


Of the Fae and the Fated

by sanguisuga



Series: sang's AU & crack collection [1]
Category: BBC Sherlock, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Battling Inner Demons, Experienced Lestrade, Fae & Fairies, First Time, Hand Jobs, Jealous Mycroft, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Oral Sex, Roman Pantheon, Shadowy Gov't Agencies, Soulmates, Steampunk (maybe?), Strength Kink, Victorian, Virgin Kink, mystrade
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-19
Updated: 2015-07-20
Packaged: 2018-02-26 07:26:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 47,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2643257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanguisuga/pseuds/sanguisuga
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft Holmes is the head of the Head Office. Gregory Lestrade is a Lieutenant in the same organisation, working the streets of Victoria's London. What will happen when they should chance to meet?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [C'mere!](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/116908) by profdrlachfinger. 
  * Inspired by [[ART COLLECTION] Of the Fae and the Fated](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5560285) by [ProfDrLachfinger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProfDrLachfinger/pseuds/ProfDrLachfinger). 



> Really, really interested to see what my regular lovelies think of this new foray. If any additional Mystrade fans happen to stop by, please do comment, tell me what I'm getting right and what I'm getting wrong!
> 
> Kisses!
> 
> (Originally inspired by 'C'mere!' by profdrlachfinger, but she has now put up an entire collection of Victorian Mystrade sketches and finished works that blend in very very nicely with this story. Please do check it out!)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The meeting...

Mycroft Holmes despised legwork. At least, that was the impression that he strove to convey, and there were days when he almost believed it himself. And then there were the days like today, when one innocuous enquiry had led to another and yet another, and he had suddenly found himself pursuing a known associate of the creature he was seeking through the dimly-lit streets of London. He slid to a stop at the mouth of a dark alleyway, pressing his body to the wall, sucking in a breath and holding it to listen for the sound of scuffling feet or scrabbling nails on the pavement.

He felt every muscle in his body quivering with the tension, with the glory of the chase. Oh yes, he undoubtedly had a brilliant mind, and he knew that was what he was best at, thinking his way out of potential situations with ease. But this, putting his physical form through its paces, delighting in the sensations, marvelling over the sheer beauty and majesty that was the human body. It was at times like these that he could almost envy Sherlock's extensive studies of anatomy, both the life-painting and the dissections. Not that his younger brother had hesitated to share any of his gruesome discoveries, and truthfully, Mycroft had been glad of it. At least he had been distracted, and eager to engage his mind.

He tipped his head back for a moment, struggling to contain his careening heart. His blood was rushing through his ears, making his most sensitive attribute nearly worthless. Oh, but the exhilaration, the rush of adrenaline was nearly intoxicating, and he had to fight to keep from bounding from his hiding spot like an over-exuberant child. Even as wild as he was feeling in the moment, Mycroft knew that caution was to be his watchword. There was something... Something or someone nearby, he could feel it. It wasn't the creature he had been pursuing, although he was almost certain that it had scampered off in this direction. Mycroft frowned to himself slightly. For it to have simply vanished... No, that wasn't possible. They had tight control over any avenues to the other side, it was simply inconceivable that something like that had found a Path. No, that one's aura had the same greasy feel of all its kind, that sickening, fetid aroma. This - this was something else, a whiff of cool autumn nights, of a comforting fire, of mulled wine. Of heat and spice, yes. He frowned again as a tendril of his thoughts wrapped around the beguiling presence, refusing to let go. It felt like... Like home.

Mycroft shook himself free of the unnerving sensation and let his eyes drift nearly closed, taking in a cleansing breath and reaching out with his senses. Most definitely human, although there was something underneath that he couldn't quite pin down, something that shifted and slithered away from him with startling ease. He gasped in shock and rocked back slightly as a wall suddenly came down in his mind's eye, blocking the other's presence quite thoroughly. He marvelled for a moment at the detail, each imagined brick laid out in perfect symmetry, as though put down by skilled hands rather than hastily erected in his head. It was somehow crude and yet elegant, and did an admirable job of shielding the unknown individual. In truth, Mycroft could find no immediate path around it, which both infuriated and intrigued him. So he was dealing with a human, but one with enough knowledge and power to block unwanted psychic attention. Most likely not an ally, then, and Mycroft's compulsive need to gather information had certainly alerted this potential danger to his presence.

He fed a little more power and will into his own barrier as a precaution, a shimmering haze of light. It was much more flexible than his opponent's shield, the advantage being that it could be poked and prodded and stretched, but it would always bounce back, thereby evicting any unwanted intruders. The solid brick wall was impressive, yes, but if Mycroft had time to analyse, to study, he would certainly be able to find a weakness, and he would most definitely exploit it. But now, of course, there was no time.

He flicked the safety catch on his umbrella with his thumb, crouching slightly, balancing on his toes. He had only the barest second before he was aware of movement, a stealthy shadow looming from behind some crates with almost unearthly grace and speed. He whipped his blade from its sheath and lunged, letting out a hiss of triumph as he felt it strike. In the next moment, he was rather startled to find himself staring directly down the barrel of an extremely impressive firearm. Sweet Diana, what made a monstrosity like that even necessary? Was this man somehow under the impression that he would be felling dinosaurs on the streets of London?

Mycroft swallowed as he took stock of his position, the tip of his blade buried in the stranger's left shoulder, his footing somewhat precarious as he had not entirely recovered from his initial lunge. There was often an advantage to having reach and flexibility, but a situation such as this was definitely not one of them. No matter how quickly he moved, he would not be able to withdraw and strike again, not with this veritable cannon pointing directly at his face. He forced his eyes to travel along the barrel and beyond, to the rather stern and oh - extremely handsome face of his opponent.

The man's large, dark eyes widened slightly and he glanced down before blinking rapidly. Mycroft found himself letting out a breath that he hadn't been aware of holding in as the man abruptly stepped back, holding his gun up and away in a gesture of truce. Mycroft stumbled slightly as his blade was pulled free, and the man rather foolishly used the barrel of his weapon to pull back the lapel of his own coat. Pinned underneath was a variation of the symbol that Mycroft was sporting openly on his own, the stylised head of an owl, little more than two large eyes and a beak. In truth, Mycroft found it a bit silly, but it did help other members identify one another without being too obvious. There was a reason certain things needed to be kept secret, after all.

He slumped back against the wall and looked at the other man's pin again. A foot soldier in their organisation, but one with some rank. A lieutenant, perhaps? It was difficult for him to discern the number of identifying marks in the dim light of the alleyway. Although if he was a leader, well, Mycroft was his general, not that his own symbol conveyed that in any way, as he often found that anonymity on both sides could be terribly advantageous. The man eyed him up and down with unbecoming forthrightness, one corner of his mouth turning up in pleasure. Mycroft found himself standing straighter, smoothing his jacket and adjusting the rim of his top hat rather unnecessarily. He was dressed just as any other gentleman of station would be, although he was sure that he was a great deal more windblown than any gentleman should expect to be after his little footrace. Affecting a casualness that he quite definitely did not feel, he shook out a handkerchief and used it to wipe the small amount of blood from the tip of his blade before sheathing it in his umbrella's handle once again.

The stranger took the opportunity to put away his own ridiculous weapon, storing it under his coat in an underarm holster. Mycroft in turn took a moment to survey the body under said coat, his cheeks heating slightly as he found his mind contemplating just what might lie underneath the snug and oh-so-flattering waistcoat. The man suddenly grinned wickedly, and Mycroft had to do a quick mental check to make sure that his shield was still up and operational. That grin was far too knowing for his comfort. As were those damned deliciously dark eyes...

The man slyly swept his coat back as he placed his hands on his waist, allowing Mycroft to take as many looks as he pleased. In addition to the underarm holster, he was fairly sure that there was another weapon in the small of this back as well as something small and yet undoubtedly lethal tucked away in an ankle holster. He also had a knife quite obviously strapped to his thigh, and what a thigh, er, knife it was, too.

The man suddenly bowed low, sweeping off his bowler and waving it in a little flourish. Mycroft swallowed again as he caught the gleam of silver hair in the light of the guttering gas lamps. Gods, but he was beautiful. He staggered slightly as the man straightened, passing it off as another adjustment to his jacket.

"Greg, sir. Greg Lestrade." Oh, his voice. Soft but gravelly, with just the right amount of roughness, rather like the man himself. Before Mycroft could open his mouth to reciprocate the introduction, Lestrade chuckled low and dirty. "If I knew they made them as pretty as you up at the Head Office, I would've been stopping by more often."

Mycroft's jaw flopped about on its own for a while as his mind struggled to catch up. Pretty? Him? Mycroft Holmes, The Iceman. And here was this vision of manliness, calling him _pretty_. "I - I beg your pardon?"

Lestrade sauntered just a bit closer. "Oh, I bet you would." Mycroft shrank back against the wall as the silver-haired man stopped only inches away. "I bet you would beg _so_ nicely..."

Mycroft simply gaped stupidly, his eyes blinking rapidly. He'd had his share of propositions, of course, from both men and women. But they had all been some form of power play, and he'd had no difficulties turning them all away. He had no time for such petty and ultimately useless games. He had urges the same as any other healthy male, of course, but had no issues with simply taking care of the matter himself. Never having known the touch of another, he did not find himself craving such.

But this Lestrade, this -  Gregory, was certainly not making a play for power. He surely knew that Mycroft outranked him, but he quite definitely did not know to what extent. Had he known that he was making overt advances on the very head of the Head Office, well, he would surely scurry away with his tail between his legs. Wouldn't he? Mycroft was just about to open his mouth in order to disabuse this subordinate of any improper notions when the infernal man reached out to touch him.

It was only a fleeting touch, really, just a light brush of fingertips along his jaw, and if that had been all, Mycroft would have easily been able to push him off, to walk away with his dignity intact. But at the same moment that those rough but gentle fingers made contact with his skin, Gregory let the wall in his head crumble away to dust, leaving Mycroft reeling. The man's aura surrounded him like a gentle but firm embrace, that sense of warmth, that hint of spice, and Mycroft didn't even try to fight it off, he just let his own shield dissolve, against every tenet of his training, but in complete accordance with his instincts. He just let him in.

"Oh, love... Oh, you smell of the winter sky in the country, so sharp and clear. Like beauty frozen for all time."

"L-love? Are you _mad_?"

"Can't you feel it?"

Oh, he certainly could. It was exhilarating and completely and utterly terrifying. Mycroft felt his entire being swaying toward this virtual stranger, a yearning so deep that it left his head spinning. Never before had he even countenanced the idea of being Fated to someone, and yet, here he was, the man whom Destiny had apparently chosen for him. Gods, how could this be happening to him? The Holmeses had never allowed superstition to override their innate sense of logic, unlike so many of the common people that wandered the city's streets. And here was the most cliché of their foolish customs coming to life within him, and Mycroft could barely breathe for the absurdity of it. It was ridiculous, and yet there was no denying that it was true. This Gregory Lestrade had already wedged himself firmly in Mycroft's head and under his ribcage, and there would be no scraping him free. It would be impossible for him to walk away from him now - he may as well have scribed his name on Mycroft's palpitating heart, for it was suddenly beating for him and him alone.

He blew out a hard breath, sticking his nose in the air as he struggled to gather the shreds of his dignity about himself once again. "You don't even know my name, you impossible man!"

There was a low, throaty chuckle, and Mycroft felt his knees begin to give way. "That's right. And it's about to send you right round the bend, in't it?"

Mycroft opened his mouth to protest, but that was when Gregory pressed the entirety of his firmly muscled, broad-shouldered, oh-so-warm body to his, covering his mouth with his own, and oh, when those lips started to move against his, well. The Iceman simply melted.

When Gregory finally released him from the bliss of his mouth, Mycroft barely had the strength to press his face into his shoulder, nearly knocking his hat askew. Gregory laughed again, quiet and dark. "Oh, just you wait until I've got you where we can do it proper." Mycroft shuddered pleasantly. "It'll have been worth the wait, I promise you."

Mycroft pulled away, his cheeks burning as his eyes searched Gregory's face. "You could tell that I... Gods, how humiliating."

"Oi, you stop that right now. So you hadn't met the right one. Nothing wrong with that. All it means is that you have some catching up to do, and I'll be more than happy to assist, I assure you. In fact, I'll be quite proud to be the right one for you. Your one and only love..."

Mycroft snorted inelegantly, his heart beating in what felt like triple-time as his head swam alarmingly. Feeling quite nervous and utterly foolish, he reached up to tweak Gregory's nose. "And just how many 'right ones' have you come across, hm?"

A sudden dark, ugly look stormed over Gregory's face, and his aura took on the smell of smoke, not a pleasant little fire in the grate, but a blazing inferno. Mycroft flinched and threw up his shield on instinct, and Gregory's head rocked back slightly, almost as though he had been slapped in the face. He shook himself and stepped away, his aura withdrawing as he calmed himself. "I had a fair amount of growing up to do when my Da died. I was young, but I did what work I could during the day, and then at night - well. My Mum was doing the same, and I couldn't expect her to sacrifice for me without doing the same for her. We both knew, but we didn't talk about it. Just scraped together whatever we got and used it to get by, like you do when you don't have any other choice." He looked Mycroft up and down with a keen eye. "Not that I'd expect you to know anything about that."

Mycroft winced again, but his would-be lover's voice didn't hold any hatred or anger. It was simply a statement, a fact of life for those who were forced to fend for themselves on the battle-worn streets of the city. "Gregory, I did not mean to imply..."

His face suddenly regained his wicked grin as his aura flared up. "Gods, your _voice_. Your voice saying my name. It's pure sex, it is." Gregory crushed him up against the wall again. "When I've taken you apart, when you're moaning my name to the heavens, I think the curtains are just going to go up in flames."

Mycroft's eyes darted between his in consternation. "You are mad, aren't you?"

Gregory winked at him, and Mycroft's mind went utterly blank. "Only in all the right ways."

He felt his knees begin to tremble again. "Oh gods, take me _home_ , Gregory."

"Tempting, but no. First of all, work is all I have, so I live at the barracks. I'll not have your first time be naught but a dirty show for the lads. We'll go to yours, if you're not too embarrassed to be seen with the likes of me."

"Gregory, stop. I will be proud to walk with you on my arm." Mycroft grimaced slightly. "Perhaps after washing some of the blood off."

Gregory burst into full-throated laughter as he looked down at his shoulder. "Skewered me pretty good, love. You moved faster than I expected."

"As did you."

"Mm. Bit of family history that accounts for that. Heal fast, too, so I'm not worried about your little prick." Mycroft's lips twisted as Gregory cast a sly sideways glance at him, but he absolutely refused to stoop to that level. "Oh, come now..."

"Not humorous in the least, you lecherous devil."

"Ooh, lecherous. That's promising." Mycroft suddenly found himself grinning, quite uncharacteristically. "And that's even more promising. First, I think a drink or two, maybe a little chat to acquaint ourselves, yes?"

Mycroft pulled him in for another kiss. "I really only want to know certain parts of you for the moment. I can figure out the rest later."

Gregory hummed against his lips, a sensation that damn near made Mycroft's legs fold underneath him. "Saucy minx! No, no... There's a delightful pit of hell pub just a bit down the way, I think you might find some of the company to be just the right flavour of disreputable..." Mycroft tilted his head with a silent question. "You _were_ tracking a goblin, right?"

"Indeed I was."

"Thought so. Picked up his scent on my patrol and had to tuck myself away when I heard you come skidding around the corner. He's one of Mickey's boys, and if you're on the same case as me, this pub is where they like to congregate, and Mickey's the man to see. Well, half-man, half-troll, anyway."

"Ah. So that's the reason for that rather ridiculous weapon of yours..." Mycroft tapped his chin thoughtfully, doing his best to ignore the hungry looks his leather-clad hands were getting. Trolls were nasty characters, stupid and brutish, difficult to contain and even harder to kill. They enjoyed causing others pain, but could generally be tricked out of it by a quicker mind. The changelings tended to be worse, since they were equally as brutish, but their human halves had lent them a certain amount of cunning, and a taste for power besides. "This is information that I was unaware of, but it explains many things. It is extremely fortuitous that we happened upon one another, for - ahem - multiple reasons."

"We'll list out those reasons later. Naked, in bed. In triplicate, behind the safety of your own door."

"Gregory, my dear, you are not making it easy for me to focus."

"That's rather the point." He took Mycroft's arm and started to lead him down the street. "Say it again."

"Gregory..."

"Mm. Say, what _is_ your name, anyway?"

Mycroft snorted as he stopped in the middle of the pavement. He doffed his top hat, smiling at Gregory's gasp of delight upon seeing his red hair for the first time. "Mycroft Holmes, very much at your service, kind sir."

At this, Gregory did take a step back, his expression one of wary amusement rather than fear. "Oh ye gods, why didn't you just shove me away?" He held his hands up as if in surrender. "I have been _far_ too bold, sir, I am dreadfully sorry. Shall I just take my leave, then?"

"No, Gregory, you shall not. I have people scraping and toadying and trying to crawl into my bed to gain my favour every day. I've not taken a single person up on their odious propositions because I knew what they were ultimately after. You, however, have appealed to not only my vanity, but to my mind. You are an intriguing puzzle, my dear, and there is very little in this world that appeals to a Holmes more than a mystery to be solved." He let his cool grey eyes graze over Gregory's form. "Besides that, although I do not often indulge myself physically, and never with partners, as you so astutely deduced earlier, there is something about you that makes me want to - explore, as it were."

Gregory wandered closer, his grin threatening to either crack his face in half, or outshine the moon. "You find me attractive, Mr. Mycroft Holmes. You think I'm sexy, and you want to do nasty, dirty things to me."

"To you, with you. Yes. I want to be _filthy_ with you." Mycroft blushed suddenly. He had been going for a jovial tone, a simple counterpoint to Gregory's teasing, but it had come out as something utterly forthright.

Gregory blinked at him before pulling him down for another kiss, and Mycroft found that he didn't care that they were in the middle of the pavement, that literally anybody could be watching. He simply did not give one fig about anyone or anything but the silver-haired treasure that he had unexpectedly found in a random, dank alleyway.

Mycroft moaned quietly as Gregory pulled away, his dark eyes fluttering. "No more noises like that, or I won't be able to do my job, you lovely creature." 

"Sod it. Hell with _all_ of it, just come home with me."

There was no sound in the universe to compare to Gregory's laughter, unless it were perhaps the sound of his lips sucking gently on his earlobe, oh dear gods in the heavens... Mycroft trembled as Gregory pulled away from him slightly. "And what would Her Majesty say to that, hm?"

Mycroft growled quietly, his hands twitching to pull his Fated in close and never let go. "Off with his head, most likely." He found himself once again grinning like a fool as Gregory snickered at him, taking his arm and tucking it into his body as they resumed their stroll down the street.

They paused in the shadow of a building across from the entrance to the 'pub', taking stock of the individuals that were flowing in and out of the building in a steady stream. Although they all looked somewhat human, Mycroft could easily discern the glamours that most of them had shrouded over their true forms. He felt his eyebrows raising as he noted a pixie and brownie leaving the establishment arm in arm.

Gregory laughed quietly beside him. "All manner of Fair Folk patronise this place, not just Unseelie. It's neutral ground, for the most part. If Mickey's in there, and I'm sure he is, we can't let it escalate beyond a few questions, unless we find a way to get him out of the building first."

Mycroft nodded his agreement, frowning slightly as he looked down at himself. "Gregory, I do not believe my attire is entirely appropriate. Come to my lodgings with me, and I will change into something more suitable."

"Oh, no you don't. We both know very well that if I follow you home, we won't be leaving again. Not tonight, and especially if there is removal of clothing involved. We do this here and now, or we'll lose our lead. I've seen that lovely nose of yours a-twitching, you've smelt that foul little git just the same as I have. He's in there, so let's go get 'im."

"Gregory, this is ridiculous. I will raise all of their suspicions, and rightfully so. Look at me!"

"Happily."

Mycroft shook his head at Gregory's wicked leer. "That is _not_ what I meant."

"Not that you're all that bothered, mind." Mycroft's blush gave him all the answer he needed, and Greg laughed again. "It's like this. I'm to be your bit of fun for the night, and you're my unsuspecting mark. You were feeling a bit wild, and I promised you a bit of danger as well as a tumble or two in exchange for your hard-earned cash. It's nothing that lot hasn't seen before, and although you're sure to garner a few looks when you saunter in with your silky hat and even silkier voice, once they see me buying a bottle of something with your money, they'll know the score right enough."

"This seems to be a rather well-rehearsed scenario, my dear." Mycroft was appalled at the icy tone coming out of his mouth and was quite relieved when Gregory only chuckled in reply.

"We've all had to do our bit of pantomime from time to time, and Gregson, my second, fills out a gentleman's togs quite nicely, and knows how to put on the proper airs." He nodded toward the door. "This won't be the first time they've seen me taking a gent like you out for a bit of rough n' tumble."

"And just how far has your bit of theatre taken you in the past?"

"Oh, you are a green-eyed one, make no mistake about that!" Mycroft jumped and tightened his grip on his umbrella as his backside was swatted rather impudently. "Never you mind. As you just pointed out yourself, that was in the past. Things are different now. I'm yours, and you're mine, and that's all there is to it."

Mycroft's jaw tightened. "I wish I could share your certainty." He waved between the two of them vaguely. "This still feels rather unreal to me."

"I never believed in it either, love. The only reason I'm not reeling right now is because I know it's right. I can feel it." Gregory stood before him, once more reaching up to cup Mycroft's jaw. "Can't you?" Mycroft chewed on his bottom lip, fighting the urge to lean into Gregory's hand. He tilted his head, those gorgeous brown eyes narrowing slightly in thought. "The first thing we were taught during training was how to shield our minds. It was hammered into our heads to keep that in place even when amongst friends and allies. And yet, back in the alleyway, you dropped your defences for me. You _let_ me in. Tell me why."

Mycroft huffed impatiently. "I had no choice in the matter. You were there, touching me, somehow both within and without and it simply felt right and there was no thought in my mind beyond you. You fit into me in a way that I find truly terrifying to even contemplate. My Fated - my Gregory..." Mycroft gave in to his body's urges, nuzzling into Gregory's hand, pressing his lips to the warm, rough skin of his palm.

"There you are, then." Those deliciously dark eyes softened and his lips parted in a gentle smile. "It's quite a lot all at once, but we both feel it, we both know it. And later, when I get you alone, I will damn well make sure you _believe_ it." Mycroft shuddered slightly. "Oh yes. Unfortunately, that needs to be put on hold for the moment. But the sooner this is over, the sooner you and I can really begin."

Mycroft's eyes narrowed, his face settling into its accustomed cold façade. "I quite agree. Shall we, then?"

Gregory smirked, and held out his arm. Mycroft took it firmly, and allowed himself to be towed across the street.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft is a jealous fool, and Gregory introduces an old friend...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second chapter of my newest foray - hope it satisfies!
> 
> Please do comment, love to know what you all think...

It wasn't quite bedlam, but it was close enough, the level of noise just loud enough to press uncomfortably on Mycroft's ears. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck start to bristle as several pairs of alien-feeling eyes settled on him, seeming to slide right over Gregory's form, even though they were still holding tight to one another. He tilted his chin toward the ceiling slightly and let his companion guide him until they found themselves at a small table in a corner of the room. Mycroft flickered a grateful smile on and off, feeling fairly relieved that in this manner, they could both more or less have a solid surface at their backs and not end up feeling quite so exposed.  
   
Gregory watched with avid eyes as Mycroft slowly pulled his leather gloves from his hands, tucking them away inside his top hat for safekeeping. "Ooh, those elegant fingers of yours are gonna feel so lovely on my skin, I just know it."  
   
Mycroft shuddered. "Stop that this instant, devil."  
   
Gregory grinned widely, letting the tip of his tongue slide out over his utterly delicious bottom lip. "Chuck us a coin, there's a gent. Make it obvious, but not _too_ obvious, if you know what I mean."  
   
Mycroft rolled his eyes as he slipped one hand inside his coat, dipping inside his purse and fishing around blindly for the right coin. He drew it out with a little smirk and slid it across the table, letting the very tip of his finger caress Gregory's skin. They both jumped as though shocked, biting their lips to hold back on twin groans. "Gregory, I am not entirely sure that I will be able to maintain control for very long. This is excruciating!"  
   
"I know, love. I know." He blew out a harsh breath. "But we have to try. We both know how important our work is." Mycroft nodded silently, continuing to chew on his bottom lip in order to contain the curses that wanted to slip from his tongue. Gregory watched with amusement and more than a small measure of lust, his eyes lingering on Mycroft's mouth, his tongue subconsciously slipping out to wet his lips again. Then he shook himself out of it, holding up the coin. "Be just a mo."  
   
Mycroft nodded again and let his eyes follow Gregory's path as he twined his way through the over-crowded tables, clapping a shoulder here and briefly joining in on a conversation there. He was obviously well-known in this particular establishment, and judging from some of the glances he was receiving, _very_ well-liked. Mycroft found himself gripping his umbrella a little too tightly as he witnessed more than one insolent creature reaching out to run a licentious hand over Gregory's arm or leg. One brazen nymph started to move her hand a bit higher up the back of his thigh, the tips of her fingers sliding neatly under the bottom hem of his coat, but Gregory deftly twisted away from her with an easy laugh. Mycroft growled under his breath. Bloody nymphs had absolutely no personal boundaries, no sense of propriety whatsoever.  
   
Gregory looked back at him briefly, his eyes dancing with mirth, almost as if he could feel Mycroft's irritation from across the room. He rolled his eyes and turned to the bar, leaning over for a hushed conversation with the man tending it. He was handed a bottle of something vaguely amber-coloured and two glasses in exchange for the coin, and the man jerked his head off to the left of the bar with a little wink. Mycroft found his eyes settling on a tattered curtain hanging over a nondescript doorway. Their man must be in there, then. He twiddled with his umbrella a little more, tapping the tip against the leg of the table that he was sitting at. He was just about to rise to his feet when Gregory suddenly returned, a bit of warning in his eyes.  
   
"No, love. Not yet. If we go haring after him right now, everybody in this place will be on high alert. We're here to look like we're having a good time, remember?"  
   
"My presence seems to be completely unnecessary for you to accomplish that specific goal."   
   
For the first time since they had met that night, Gregory's eyes narrowed somewhat dangerously, his lips thinning with just a touch of anger. Mycroft blinked, feeling absurdly chastised before the man had even opened his mouth to speak. He felt his cheeks heating with a bewildering mixture of shame and arousal as the silver-haired man bent to his ear. "Now you listen to me, my good man. I know that you're new to the very idea of even being with someone, and from my sense of things, rather unused to any kind of casual social interaction, but this ridiculous behaviour of yours will stop, and it will stop this instant. My job requires that I walk these streets and get to know these people, and besides which, I'm a friendly fellow by nature. If you're going to fly into a jealous fugue at the very thought of me simply stopping and chatting with folk, then you better walk away from this, from _me_ , right now."  
   
Mycroft's entire body jolted with shock. "Gregory!"  
   
"I mean it, Mycroft." Gregory took his seat once again, pouring out two measures of whatever foul concoction was in the bottle. "You have to be able to trust me, love. Just as I'll trust you."  
   
"I cannot trust them, though."  
   
Gregory's eyes started to twinkle again. "What, you think I can't fend off the advances of some no-name dryad?"  
   
"They have been known to bewitch men, Gregory." Mycroft pouted slightly, raising his glass to his nose to sniff at the liquid delicately.  
   
"It's not poison, love." Gregory shook his head with a little smile. "And you know as well as I that their magic only extends to the borders of their groves, so if I'm ever sent over to Faerie proper, then you can start worrying."  
   
Mycroft huffed impatiently. "I would simply have to come with you, wouldn't I?"  
   
"Well, there is more safety in numbers."  
   
"Indeed."  
   
Gregory took a sip of his drink and grimaced slightly. "Not that their magic would take hold anyway." He grinned disarmingly. "I'm already bewitched."  
   
Mycroft took in a shuddering breath, his eyes skittering from Gregory's face to his hands and back again. "It seems that my Fated is a romantic fool." Gregory chuckled slightly, and let out a wavering breath of his own as Mycroft surreptitiously ran his foot up his calf. "Lucky me."  
   
"And don't you forget it."  
   
Mycroft ducked his chin to his chest, looking up at him from under his lashes. "Gregory, I must apologise. You are quite correct, my behaviour has been abominable. I think..." He blinked down at his glass. "I don't know what to think, honestly, and I believe that is disconcerting me more than I'd like to admit."

"Keep looking at me like that, and _I_ think I'd forgive you just about anything." Gregory's voice was little more than a low growl, and Mycroft looked up in surprise. "You really have no idea, do you?" Mycroft blinked again and tilted his head inquisitively. "What you're doing to me. My insides are all in a jumble and you're just sitting there with those eyes and those hands and sweet Venus, that _voice_." He leant across the table as if imparting a great secret. "Your voice goes straight to my prick, Mycroft. Makes me stiffen in my trousers like a bloody teenager. I've not felt this way since I was eighteen. What you're doing to me, love, it's - well - it's indecent, that's what it is. And I haven't even peeled you out of those fancy togs of yours yet."

Mycroft snorted suddenly, and Gregory flashed his most wicked grin at him. "I must say that I'm suffering the same affliction, and am very much looking forward to a time when we are able to remedy the situation together. I -" He turned pensive again, twisting his glass on the tabletop. "I cannot say that I have ever felt this way and I once again find myself completely at a loss as to how I may solve my dilemma."

"There is no dilemma, love. There is no solution awaiting your problem, because there _is_ no problem. There's just you and me, and from now on, we work it out together." Gregory reached out to trace his fingers over the back of Mycroft's hand, smiling as they both shuddered slightly. "We trust in each other, and we work together."

"Yes." Mycroft finally raised his glass to his lips, knocking back the dubious liquor with one decisive swallow. The shudder that shook his frame immediately afterward was not at all as pleasant as the tremors that he had experienced under Gregory's touch, and he offered a shaky smile as his would-be lover laughed at him affectionately.

He poured out another measure. "Take this one a little slower, love. But feel free to make it seem like that first one was a bit much for you."

Mycroft braced his elbow on the table and twirled his wrist in a vague circle. He grinned crookedly. "I do not think that will be too difficult a task, my dear." He winked conspiratorially and seemed to waver in his seat as he sipped demurely from his glass.

Gregory broke out into hearty laughter, returning Mycroft's saucy wink. "That's the spirit, love."

"This..." Mycroft peered at the liquid, "...is really _quite_ dreadful." He pushed the glass toward his companion. "Do pour us a bit more, there's a lad." Gregory shook his head in bemusement as he tipped the bottle, just the barest trickle splashing on the surface. Mycroft took it back and brought it to his lips, appearing to drink steadily even though the level of liquid somehow miraculously remained the same. "Although I do have rather a fine old bottle of scotch awaiting our pleasure at my home, Gregory." He swayed a little more forcefully on his chair. "If we ever manage to make it there before I expire of old age!" Mycroft suddenly erupted into a full-blown pout, resting his elbow on the table and his chin in his hand. "And here I was under the impression that you wanted me."

Gregory's eyes absolutely blazed, and Mycroft nearly rocked back from the sheer wave of heat that washed over his body. "You. You are going to bloody well _kill_ me, you tart." Mycroft pouted a little more, the fingers of his free hand tracing over the rim of his glass. With a little smirk, he employed the tactic that seemed to have entranced Gregory earlier, tucking his chin down and looking up at him from under his lashes. Gregory growled incoherently. "Message received, love. Although I'm addled enough with desire that I have no idea whether you are shamming, or if you've truly had too much. No matter. I'm done with waiting."

"Quite _right_ , too!" Mycroft nodded decisively and nearly slipped off his seat as Gregory capped the bottle and slid it into his coat pocket. Ever the gentleman, his silver-haired companion stood and offered his arm, swiftly wrapping it around Mycroft's waist as he came to his feet with a wobble, leaning heavily on his umbrella. Gregory made sure that top hat and gloves were firmly in hand before tugging him in the direction of the curtained doorway. Mycroft giggled and pressed a kiss to Gregory's cheek, delighting in the way his flesh heated under his touch.

With another low growl, a noise that was swiftly becoming Mycroft's favourite sound in all the world, Gregory pulled him in tight and laid a fevered kiss full on his lips. They both ignored the whistles and jeers that erupted around them, getting thoroughly lost in one another. When they finally broke apart, Mycroft simply blinked stupidly, reading the need and desire on his Fated's face with astonishment. He still couldn't quite understand how this man, this frankly gorgeous specimen, could be looking at him as though he were the greatest treasure on Earth. He sagged against Gregory momentarily, counting on his apparently boundless strength to hold them both steady. Mycroft groaned in mortification as someone in the crowded pub shouted, _"Get it, Lestrade!"_ , following up his crude comment with a sharp whistle. Only then did he seem to register the joviality that was surrounding them, directed at them, and he felt his face flush as his companion chuckled in his ear.  
   
Gregory continued to manoeuvre him toward the curtained doorway, only pausing at the bar to hold out his hand in a silent demand. With a little smirk, the attendant placed a key in his palm in exchange for another coin, and Mycroft felt a swift thrill travel through his body. As wonderful as it would be to have his first time with Gregory within the walls of his own lodgings, at this point in the evening, he would certainly be willing to settle for any room with at least a modicum of privacy. He felt his spirits drop as Gregory shook his head slightly, pulling him through the curtain with a little frown. His body subconsciously turned toward the staircase to the left of the entrance, at the top of which were several closed doorways, obviously rooms available for the night. Gregory shook his head again and pressed him to the wall, smothering his mouth with another impassioned kiss.  
   
"Not yet, love. Soon, I promise you."  
   
"Gregory, I am in _agony_." Mycroft let go of the last strand of his self-control, allowing what remained of his shield to dissipate, willing his aura to envelop his Fated. Gregory moaned as he shivered in ecstasy, grinding his arousal into Mycroft's thigh with abandon. "As are you, my dear. Please, let me relieve your torture. I want to touch you." Mycroft paused, leaning closer to Gregory's ear. "I - I want to taste you." He licked his neck, smiling as his body jerked under his ministrations.  
   
"Ki-killing me, oh dear Venus..." Gregory blew out a hard breath and stepped back with difficulty, holding Mycroft's upper arms fast against the wall as he attempted to follow. "Stop." He glared in warning as Mycroft started to poke his bottom lip out, the beginning of another truly epic pout. "None of that, and absolutely no doe-eyes." He glanced back over his shoulder, to a corridor that seemed to lead outside via a back door. Mycroft noted another door set back along the alcove under the staircase, and nodded testily. He attempted to pull himself back together as Gregory blew out another breath and bit his lip. "Before we go in there, you should know..." Mycroft felt a bit of a chill run down his spine at the look of chagrin on Gregory's face and his arousal suddenly flagged. "Mickey and I, well - we have a bit of a history. Nothing serious, but once he notices what we are to each other, and he will - he'll probably try to get a rise out of you by mentioning it. You have to control that jealousy of yours, love. Don't give him the satisfaction, or any potential future ammunition. Shield yourself well, and do your best to keep any strong emotions at bay." Gregory smiled crookedly as Mycroft rolled his eyes at his little lecture. "It will be a bit of a trial, but I'm sure you've been in more dangerous situations and handled yourself quite admirably."  
   
"I appreciate your faith in my abilities, but it would be far easier on the both of us if you would simply give in. It won't take but a moment."  
   
Gregory sighed in exasperation, but could only grin as Mycroft blinked at him innocently. "Your attempts to persuade me will not work, love. I don't want your first time to be some quick and ultimately unsatisfying romp in a seedy tavern."  
   
"And if I do?"  
   
"Not going to happen." Gregory grinned again, tilting his head. "Romantic fool, remember?"  
   
Mycroft blushed as his voice softened. "How could I forget?" They stared at each other in silence, until Gregory squared his shoulders and put his shield firmly into place. Mycroft winced slightly, astonished at how quickly he had grown accustomed to having that comforting warmth as a constant presence in his head. He smiled slightly as the same displeasure was mirrored on Gregory's face as he followed suit, withdrawing and locking his own barrier into place. With a quick glance down, Mycroft made sure that none of his clothing was obviously in disarray, and nodded decisively as Gregory turned toward the door.  
   
He slipped the key into the lock and pushed the door open without warning, stepping inside and to the right to allow Mycroft entrance. They both paused as they took in a subtle change in the atmosphere, a cool charge lingering in the air, a sense of otherness. Of course, that could be due to the somewhat motley assortment of creatures sitting at a solid round table in the centre of the room, all with cards in hand. The largest of the foursome was clearly Mickey, as only a man with troll in his blood could be that solid and quite sincerely imposing. He was sitting furthest from the door, with the goblin that Mycroft had been tracking earlier in the evening to his right. There was a spriggan to his left, obviously a bodyguard of sorts, as his demeanour was intensely alert and he seemed to grow slightly as both Mycroft and Gregory looked to him. The creature in the seat directly opposite Mickey glanced over his shoulder, and Mycroft had to fight to keep from backing out of the room altogether. Although he had seemed to be merely another goblin, he was in fact a redcap, and grinned maliciously as he noted the humans' reaction to him.  
   
"Aw right, you lot. Clear off." Mickey grinned, showing a mouth full of misshapen teeth. "Seems a private discussion is needed. We'll pick up our game a bit later." The spriggan frowned impressively, but the larger man just shrugged and jerked his head toward the door. "Git on with ye. I can handle meself."  
   
"But Lestrade..."  
   
Mickey suddenly winked at Gregory, and Mycroft had to repress a shudder. "Greggy and me go back quite a ways. Nuthin' ta worry about."  
   
"Boss..."  
  
_"Git!"_  
   
They scattered, ducking through the open doorway one by one, the goblin with a guilty expression, the spriggan warning both of the humans with a silent if severe glare, and the redcap with a wicked grin, sharp teeth fully on display. Mycroft suppressed another shudder as he slid into the seat opposite Mickey, waiting until he heard the door close behind him and the lock click into place with a decisive snap. Gregory tossed the key onto the table and stood at Mycroft's back and slightly to his right. Mycroft took a moment to glance around and took up the redcap's discarded hand.  
   
"You have a secret room tucked away in the back of a rather disreputable pub, and you're using it to play whist?"  
   
Mickey shrugged. "You lot don't let us roam free, so we find our fun where we can. Ain't t'at right, Greggy?" He leered openly, seeming to take no notice of Mycroft as his eyes travelled over Gregory's body. His beady eyes widened in shock as the object of his lascivious regard reached out to place a reassuring hand on Mycroft's shoulder, squeezing gently. "Surely not!" He leant back with a little frown, drumming his sausage-like fingers on the table. "Maisie will be none too pleased, I'll tell ye t'at fer nuthin'."  
   
"Life does go on, Mick. Besides, I've not dallied with you and your missus for a good four months or so. You knew where to find me if you had the urge, and you haven't come calling, so I doubt you'll be missing me all that much."  
   
Mickey pursed his lips, a cruel glee dancing in his eyes as he fixed them on Mycroft's face. He kept his expression as impassive as he was able as the foul creature smirked at him. "Maisie found 'erself a new pet. But she's not half as fun as ye, Greggy. My Maisie's the only one who can accommodate me after the manner of wimminfolk, after all. New pet lacks the equipment I long fer, if ye get me meaning." Mycroft clutched the fabric of his trousers in his fists as Gregory's body was once again subjected to a lecherous gaze. "Such a lovely thick dagger our boy has, and oh, doesn' 'e have the skill to wield it beautifully. But ye wouldn't know t'at quite yet, would ye? I'd smell it on ye if'n ye had."  
   
Mycroft cleared his throat. "Perhaps not, but I will before this night is out." He fixed Mickey with a glare of his own. "And after that, he will be mine and mine alone. We will be bound to one another in flesh as well as in spirit, and none other will be able to lay claim."  
   
"Fated." Mickey snorted derisively as he raised his eyes to the ceiling. "Never even smelled t'at taint on ye, Greggy."  
   
Gregory shrugged. "I didn't think it would happen either, Mick. But that's the nature of the thing, in't it? You don't know it's there until it happens." He nodded toward the seat that the goblin had been inhabiting. "You can thank Thad for the impromptu introduction and for igniting that flame for us."  
   
"Lad did say t'at some Company man had been after him all evenin'." He tilted his head, looking back to Mycroft. "S'pose t'at was ye."  
   
"Indeed."  
   
"So what're ye after, t'en?"  
   
Mycroft stared him down coldly. "There have been some deaths related to a new drug that is circulating on the streets. After following several leads, I've come to the conclusion that you are the main supplier. However, you obviously lack the funds and the ability, not to mention the intelligence, to be the manufacturer. I need to know where it's coming from. Our analysis has shown that it definitely has Fae origins, and the unfortunates who have mistaken this concoction for their usual vice have all gone mad before taking their lives and sometimes others along the way. This is in direct violation of the tenets of the Covenant, and it needs to stop." Mickey had gone pale and stiff as Mycroft was speaking. "Human lives are not to be trifled with, Mickey. If one foolishly wanders into Faerie proper, they are of course fair game." Mycroft narrowed his eyes. "But not here," he hissed suddenly. "Not in England. Not in London. You will tell me what I need to know, or we will have no choice but to take you back to the Head Office. I'm sure you have an idea of what pleasures may await you in our lower levels."  
   
Mickey fidgeted in his seat, casting an uneasy glance at his former lover, noting with a small amount of desperation how his stance had widened and that his weapon was within easy grasp. Lestrade shook his head slightly, his own eyes narrowed. It was clear that his loyalties were with the man at his side, and even above that, with the Company. Mickey ran his meaty hands through his greasy hair, making it stick up in awkward spikes before dropping his hands to his lap. "I - I cain't. Ye don't know - ye cain't unnerstand... It'd be worse t'an whatever you lot would do to me, t'at's fer certain."  
   
"If you come with us tonight, right now, we may be able to offer you a measure of protection."  
   
"Why now?"

Mycroft sighed as he looked around the room. "The dimensions in here are all wrong, my dim-witted friend. From the placement of the door and the specifications of the available space outside, this should be little more than a broom cupboard. And yet - here we are seated at a substantial table with room to spare. Would your illustrious Queen be pleased to note that you have apparently purloined a little corner of Her domain to play at something as trifling as human cards? Besides which, although it is not a direct violation of our agreement, dimensional magic within our borders is generally frowned upon. And it's rather tricky. I very much doubt that you've managed it properly."  
   
"She don't know!"  
   
"Fool! Of course She knows. You've secured for yourself a bit of Faerie, of Winter itself. Mab knows everything that happens in Her lands, and I wouldn't be surprised if She were listening to our conversation right now." Mycroft realised his error as soon as it slipped from his tongue, and knew that Gregory understood as well, as he tensed uneasily beside him.

Mickey turned bright red, snarling loudly. "Now ye've done it! Just 'ad to invoke Her name, din't ye? Fucking humans ruin everyt'ing!"

In the next instant, Mycroft suddenly found himself flat on his back as something hit the wall over his head with a solid thunk. He glanced up and saw the hilt of a substantial knife wavering where it had embedded itself in the surface. He blinked at it in astonishment. Had Gregory not knocked the chair he was sitting in and thus himself backwards onto the floor, that blade would now be buried in his chest. He was still blinking at the knife as there was an indistinct grunt from somewhere off to his right, and the solid oak table was shoved over him, a clever strategy on Gregory's part that both sheltered him from further attacks and rather conveniently braced the door. 

Mycroft lay immobilised for another moment or two, dimly registering the sound of booted footsteps running on the table over his head, a pause and a meaty thud followed by a sharp crack, a noise that could not be mistaken for anything but a kick to someone's jaw. Mycroft rolled free from the shelter of the table, a sudden panic taking hold as he imagined his Gregory grappling with Mickey. Surely he would succumb - he was dealing with a half-troll, after all, and no mere human could stand a chance, not even someone as virile and undoubtedly as skilled as his Fated...

There was the sickening sound of more blows landing on flesh, of sharp growls punctuated by blistering curses, but even before Mycroft had regained his feet, it was obvious to him that the scuffle was remarkably one-sided. He gaped stupidly as Gregory drew back his right arm and delivered a rather devastating punch to the left side of Mickey's face, his jaw already obviously dislocated. The initial kick that Gregory had delivered must have immediately incapacitated the changeling, as he was making no move to retaliate, only holding his hands up in a weak defensive posture.  
   
"Gregory?" The silver head twitched slightly, but his Fated deliberately turned away from him, his entire body trembling with rage as he loomed over Mickey. Mycroft frowned as he studied his back briefly. He could swear that his hair hadn't been quite that long a few minutes ago, as it was now curling over his collar in wild waves. And although he did normally sport rather a fine set of broad shoulders, they now seemed to be in danger of splitting his coat along the seams. "Gregory, what has happened to you?" He reached out a hand and started to move closer.

Gregory growled incoherently and threw out his arm in a warding gesture. "Mycroft, stay back. Please, for your sake as well as mine."

Gregory's voice didn't sound right, his usual jovial but gravelly tone being completely overridden by a harsh, grating quality. It sounded more like a wild beast trying to form human speech with a thick tongue and a mouth filled with sharp teeth. Mickey cast a terrified glance in his direction, and Mycroft repressed a shudder. If a man with troll in his blood could be that frightened... Gregory snarled and smacked his open palm across Mickey's face before dropping his hand to the knife strapped to his thigh. Before Mycroft could even blink, the edge of the blade was pressed firmly to the unfortunate changeling's neck. He hissed in startled shock and pain.

"You don't look at him, Mick. He is _mine_ and you haven't earned the privilege. You understand me?" Mickey whimpered quietly, jerking his head in a shallow nod.

"Gregory! I do believe you've made your point. Release him before this goes too far."

"He threatened you, Mycroft." The smell of smoke suddenly filled the room, a miasma so thick that both Mycroft and Mickey choked on it. Gregory snarled loudly, snapping his teeth at Mickey's face in his anger. "Would've _killed_ you if I hadn't been here. What kind of Fated would I be to you if I let that stand?"

"The sensible kind - think, Gregory! You were here, and because of you no harm has come to me." Mycroft ran his hands through his hair, his mind churning desperately. It lit on a promising possibility, and he took a deep breath. "Gregory, you mustn't. Remember what you told me. This is neutral ground, yes? No blood must be shed, or else there will be dire consequences."

Gregory laughed, a wretched sound of despair and delight all rolled into one. He finally cast a glance over his shoulder, and Mycroft felt his guts turn to water as he took in the sight of warm brown eyes gone utterly black. Black and cold, little more than fathomless abysses that threatened to pull Mycroft in, to swallow him whole. Gregory smiled without humour, a rather bleak expression on his normally caring face. His teeth glinted in the dim light provided by the gas lamps on the walls, sharp and predatory. "Perhaps you should be the one thinking, love. You said it yourself. In here, we're beyond the restrictions of the pub. This is Faerie, not London." Mickey shuddered as Gregory turned those black eyes back to him. "Your Queen may even be grateful to me for doing the dirty work for Her, eh, Mick?"

Mickey closed his eyes in resignation as Gregory lifted his arm in preparation to strike. Mycroft steeled himself and took a couple of steps closer. "Gregory, stop. P-please, my love. Please. I do not wish to see you reduced to such a shameful action on my account."

Gregory paused, his shoulders turning in slightly as he let out a shuddering breath. "S-say it again."

Mycroft sighed in relief, letting a tendril of his aura slip out from behind his shield, picturing it as one of his fingers gently brushing the hair back from his Fated's face. "Gregory. My love."

Without another word, Gregory sank onto his knees, his knife clattering to the ground as it fell from suddenly nerveless fingers. He seemed to shrink back into himself, and leant back into Mycroft's touch as he came up behind him, gently caressing his head and shoulders. He marvelled as the shaggy locks once more neatened into short silver spikes under his fingers, and sighed again as Gregory chuckled, his customary good humour instantly restored. "You have questions."

Mycroft quirked an eyebrow as Gregory tilted his head back and looked up at him. "Oh yes."

"And I will answer them, but not here."

"Of course not. We must leave posthaste. I have no doubt that we shall expect visitors before too long." He turned his attention to the massive heap of a man that was cradling his jaw in his hand as Gregory regained his feet with a weary sigh, once more securing his knife in its sheath. "Mickey. Who are you to take your chances with?" Mycroft scowled as Mickey kept his gaze fixed on Gregory's face, nodding at him decisively. His watery blue eyes skittered in his direction and then immediately away, and Mycroft suppressed a little giggle as he realised that Mickey was doing his best to obey Gregory's prior command that he not look at him.

Gregory shook his head as he looked between them, and held out his hand. "Your hanky, love." Mycroft frowned, but handed it over, watching with interest as he wrapped it around his thumb and then turned toward Mickey. "You ready?" The changeling shook his head mournfully, but released his hold on his face and tilted his head back as he grasped hold of the arms of his chair firmly. Gregory gently prised his mouth open, and inserting his swaddled thumb, did something that snapped his jaw back into place. Mickey's groan of relief was just as loud as the rather disturbing pop of his bones, and Mycroft shuddered delicately. Gregory dipped his hand into the pocket of his coat and drew out the bottle of liquor, and Mickey snatched it from him without delay, guzzling it down in one long pull. "Will your boys be waiting for us out there?"

Mickey rolled his eyes and shook his head decisively, once again holding a meaty paw to his face as he tossed the empty bottle onto the floor. Gregory helped him to his feet as Mycroft snatched the key off the table, shoving against the solid oak ineffectually. He turned wide eyes on his Fated as Gregory chuckled quietly. "How?"

"Later, love." Between the three of them, they managed to clear the obstruction from the door, and after checking that the corridor was clear, Mycroft led the way out through the back entrance.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of background on the Company, and Mycroft makes the acquaintance of another lieutenant...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trala laa... Another chapter this week, quelle surprise! 
> 
> Please do feed the muse, let her know what you think!
> 
> Kisses, my lovelies! *mwah*

They were extremely fortunate that an empty hansom was passing at just that moment, and after showing their badges to the driver, they were swiftly on their way to the Yard. The Company was a division of the existing police force, although most of Scotland Yard truly had no idea what occurred on a daily basis within the basements and sub-basements underneath their building. That was the Company's purpose, after all - to keep the majority of London's population blissfully ignorant, free from the knowledge of the magical creatures that lived in neighbouring houses and breathed the same foul city air.

It took a special kind to be able to even comprehend this odd new reality without going a little mad. They had become aware of this right from the beginning, when the Queens of Summer and Winter had revealed themselves to England's ruler nearly twenty-five years past. Victoria had handled Herself with aplomb, Her stoicism serving Her remarkably well. However, one of the minor advisers in attendance had immediately retired to his personal rooms and had opened his veins without delay. (Being a rather considerate fellow, he at least had the decency to ensure that any mess was neatly captured within a deep basin.) There was but a hastily scrawled note beside him when he was found the next day. 

 _"Everything I have ever believed to be false has been demonstrably proven to be true."_  
   
After that incident, a series of tests had been devised to determine whether it would be more beneficial to reveal the truth of the Fae's existence, or to seek to conceal it. Perhaps surprisingly, it was found that those with a more logical turn of mind were better able to handle the apparent dichotomy of childhood stories suddenly coming to life. After all, most of them had reasoned, the tales had to come from somewhere, did they not? Seeing as how most of London, indeed, of the world, was full of decidedly illogical people, it had been determined to maintain the knowledge as secret. Thus the Company had been born. They handled all Fae relations and closely monitored their activities, ensuring that the Paths remained safe for both human and faeries to travel, and that nothing truly dangerous wandered onto the streets of London.

Mycroft had been recruited after his first year at university, already somewhat of an outcast as he was the youngest of his peers by a good two years. He had accepted immediately, eager for the opportunity to be respected for his vast intellect, as opposed to being reviled for it. He had pondered for a year or so before bringing Sherlock in on the secret, for while his mind was very nearly as ordered as his was, his younger brother had a decidedly romantic streak. Even at ten years of age, he had still harboured a not-so-secret desire to sail the high seas, to plunder and pillage.

Sherlock had not been at all surprised to hear that faeries were real. He had, in fact, immediately demanded a healthy specimen on which to conduct a number of experiments, but Mycroft had remained steadfast against the very idea. "Later," he had told him. "When you are older, you will join the Company, and I will personally see to it that you will never lack for any manner of research materials." Sherlock had grinned wildly and run off in the direction of the small forest bordering the Holmes property, no doubt determined to spot and perhaps capture a sprite all on his own.

Mycroft smiled faintly at the recollection, coming back to the present as a warm hand tucked itself into the crook of his right arm. He immediately covered it with his left hand, squeezing gently as Gregory smiled at him, the corners of his eyes crinkled with pleasure and more than a touch of fatigue. No doubt whatever trial his body had gone through back at the tavern had sapped his energy quite handily. Mycroft sighed inwardly. What with having to deliver Mickey to the Yard to ensure his protection and writing up a report to present to Her Majesty in the morning, it did not seem likely that any romantic interlude would be occurring this night.

As if reading his rather glum thoughts, Gregory shifted in his seat, deliberately brushing his sturdy thigh up alongside Mycroft's own. Warm brown eyes flickered down to gaze longingly at Mycroft's mouth, and he felt a distinct stirring in his trousers as Gregory's tongue wet his lips invitingly. They started to lean into each other, but then there was an awkward pause as Mickey abruptly cleared his throat, reminding them of his presence.

Mycroft almost screamed out of pure frustration, but even as he levelled his most effective glare at the interloper, he couldn't help but notice the embarrassed apologies in his eyes. No, this current situation was not entirely his fault, and Mycroft would be rather a cad to lay the blame for their unfortunate delay at his feet. Indeed, if it were not for him, he may not have met with Gregory at all. Mickey frowned slightly as he looked at Mycroft, sliding his eyes to Gregory and back in a deliberate and rather pointed fashion. He winced as he cradled his jaw, and Mycroft nodded curtly as he realised that he wanted to ask a question.

Tentatively, Mickey reached out to tap Gregory's knee to capture his attention, as his eyes had slipped shut of their own accord. Mycroft chuckled quietly as the silver-haired man startled into awareness with a swift jerk, his hand tightening on Mycroft's arm almost painfully.

 _"Ye gods!"_ He ran his free hand over his face, blinking down at the meaty paw on his leg before glancing at Mycroft with trepidation. Mycroft shrugged. While he didn't think he was entirely over his propensity toward jealousy when it came to his Fated, he wasn't feeling it in this moment. There had been something about Gregory's display back at the tavern that had satisfied something deep within him. Gregory's fierce protectiveness, his outright claim of possession - that, more than the heated looks and frankly wondrous kisses, had somehow made this whole ridiculous business easier for Mycroft to accept.

Mickey winced as he released his grip on his jaw, and used both hands to draw an exaggerated hourglass shape in the air. Gregory gasped and abruptly straightened in his seat. "Maisie! _Shit._ Did we leave her behind?" He turned to Mycroft in a low-grade panic. "If you-know-who does decide to come after Mick, She'll certainly snatch up his wife as leverage. We need to turn back." Mycroft started to raise his umbrella, intending to alert the driver by tapping on the roof of the carriage, but Mickey waved his hands and shook his head. Gregory sagged against Mycroft in relief. "Not in town? One of those visits with her 'sister' in Chatham, then?" He waggled his eyebrows suggestively and grinned as Mickey snorted out a harsh laugh.

Mycroft watched with interest as the two men bantered easily, feeling just a touch of envy. This time it wasn't about whatever physical pleasures they (and the mysterious Maisie, apparently) had shared with each other in the past, it was that they were quite obviously connected to each other in some unfathomable way. Despite Gregory's claim that whatever they had between them wasn't serious, they clearly had a fondness for one another, an easy rapport. And this was even after knives had been thrown and joints dislocated - or could it be because of it? Was this the sort of chaos that they were wont to engage in on any given evening? Mycroft shook his head slightly. This was something else that he had never seen the need for in his life. What use were friends, anyway? He had his work, and his brother. As it was, Sherlock was the only other individual who could even remotely understand him.

It had taken but one night for Mycroft's life to be neatly upended, and he was rather startled to realise that he didn't mind it in the least. One night, one impossible man, and suddenly new vistas were opening up before him, and he found that he was rather eager to see what may yet transpire. The very idea of being bound to someone without knowing that individual; of something so fundamental being beyond his control, had frankly infuriated him as a child. In truth, this was why he had taken such pains to sequester himself away from the vast population of the city. If he isolated himself from people - well, then it simply couldn't happen. Never mind that the possibility was exceedingly remote, as true Fated pairs were hardly common. Mycroft had done whatever was in his power to ensure that it would never come to be.

He smiled faintly as Gregory threw back his head, laughing uproariously at whatever Mickey was attempting to convey with nothing more than a surprisingly expressive face and expansive hand gestures. How foolish he had been to think that such a thing would be little more than a prison sentence, for now that Gregory was in his life, he could only enrich it. Gregory's joy was now as his, and oh - what a blessed thing it was.

The hansom came to a halt as Mickey reached out to slap Gregory's leg in retaliation for some cheeky remark or other. Gregory groaned and tilted his head back, seeming to gather his strength to disembark. Mycroft squeezed his hand. "Stay. I will accompany Mickey and explain the situation." He turned his attention to the changeling. "We will send someone for your wife this very evening. It would no doubt be beneficial if you were to write a note to avoid any potential misunderstandings."  
   
"Good idea, love. Maisie's not as easy-going as Mick. There'd be trouble if our lads just showed up and tried to haul her off."  
   
Mycroft smiled at Mickey's smug expression. "Is she, _ah..._ ", he gestured vaguely at the half-troll.  
   
Gregory chuckled low. "Oh yes, Maisie's a big gel. Very - enthusiastic." He grinned disarmingly at Mycroft's sour expression and once again started to gather his legs beneath him.  
   
"No, Gregory." Mycroft pushed him back down in the seat.  
   
"Love, I have to report to the Captain on duty." He glanced aside, pulling a face at Mickey's amused expression. "Besides, I don't believe that I'll be as pleasant company as you were hoping for tonight. Tomorrow, however..."  
   
"Nonsense. I will make your report, and I am sure your company will be absolutely scintillating."  
   
"Even if I just wind up dribbling on your cravat?"  
   
Mycroft tilted his head, smiling crookedly as something in Gregory's eyes sparked. "Especially so." He leant in closer. "I still have questions, my love." Oh, that did it - Gregory suddenly slumped back, utterly defeated. Interesting.  
   
Mickey giggled, and slapped his hand to his mouth as if affronted that such a noise had escaped from him. Gregory sighed noisily. "I'm going to regret letting you two go off together, I just know it." He waggled his finger in Mickey's face. "You'll be telling him none of my secrets, Mick. That's for _me_ to do, am I clear?" The changeling nodded his head solemnly and crossed his heart, struggling to contain the evil smirk that was spreading over his lips. "Oh gods..."  
   
Mycroft took the opportunity to run his hand down the length of Gregory's thigh, biting his lip to hold back on any of his own rather embarrassing noises. Mickey huffed impatiently and shoved his way past them to quit the carriage, impudently tugging at Mycroft's coat along the way. With a lingering look, both to admire the view and to silently admonish Gregory to keep to his seat, Mycroft followed suit. He gave the driver a coin and instructed him to wait.

Mickey fell into step beside him as he strode toward the Yard, ducking off to the left to a side entrance. "Shifter."

Mycroft turned to the changeling in surprise. "What was that?"

"I know ye bin dyin' ta ask, so I t'ought I'd tell ye." Mickey winced, trying not to open his mouth too wide as he spoke, but making sure he was understood all the same. "It's shifter in 'is blood. Not half, though. Or even quarter. Goes back a generation or two further 'n t'at."

Shapeshifter. That would definitely explain Gregory's speed, his strength. Mycroft thought back to the first time he had touched his Fated's mind, when he had sensed that he was facing something more than human. He graced Mickey with a slow smile. "And what was that about not sharing his secrets?"

Mickey shook his head perfunctorily. "Not a secret, not really. Lots o' folk in the community know. I imagine 'e would've told ye once 'e got ye alone."

"But events transpired which led to him showing rather than telling..."

"Greggy usually has better control over 'is beast than t'at. My fault for losin' me 'ead an' tossing t'at blade. I am sorry for t'at. Panicked, I s'pose. An' well..." He ducked his head and shuffled his feet awkwardly. "Me 'n 'im, we've known each other since we were but lads. We 'ad our bit o' fun ever' now n' agin, but I ain't never seen 'im look at anyone th' way 'e was lookin' at ye." Mickey shrugged as he squinted at Mycroft's face. "Los' me senses."

Mycroft laughed quietly. "Jealousy." Mickey looked ashamed, but he nodded. "And why are you telling me this now?"

"I saw ye. When 'e shifted, let 'is beast loose. Ye din't holler, or try to run. Ye reached out ta 'im instead. I reckon t'at makes ye a rum sort o' bloke."

"I see. So I've received your blessing, then?"

Mickey shrugged again. "Yeah. Cain't see why not." Mycroft smiled, feeling oddly relieved. He took Mickey's arm and continued to lead him into the building. The changeling chuckled. "I will tell ye this. No matter how th' lad may protest, our Greggy is _a'ways_ up for a bit o' slap n' tickle. 'Ere's aw ye have ta do..." Mickey began to outline his most reliable method of effectively bedding Gregory in quite the ribald fashion, and Mycroft found his cheeks burning abominably, but also made sure to take extremely detailed mental notes. "Works ever' time, I'm tellin' ye."  
   
"I will - _ahem_ \- take that under careful consideration." Mycroft cleared his throat again as Mickey snorted and chucked him on the arm in a good-natured fashion. With a tiny glare of warning, Mycroft led the changeling through the foyer of the Company's quarters, showing his pin and his badge to the private on guard. "I wish to see the Captain on duty, if you please."  
   
The rather fresh-faced lad nodded toward another individual passing through, a loaded tea-tray in his hands. "Lieutenant Watson there was just bringing him his tea, sir. If you'd follow him, I'm sure he'd be willing to delay his own report for a while."  
   
Watson turned, his eyes widening slightly as he took in Mickey's massive form and his frankly battered face. He looked to Mycroft in admiration. "Not my doing, Lieutenant. But it is concerning a rather urgent matter."  
   
"Of course, sir. Please follow me." Mycroft inclined his head elegantly and followed, Mickey trailing just a step behind. Although the lieutenant was a good six inches or so shorter than he, Mycroft found himself admiring his light brown hair, shot through with strands of gold, the set of his shoulders, the manner in which his uniform tucked in around a trim waist and rather fine bottom. He blushed faintly, realising that before tonight, such a thing would not have even registered in his consciousness whatsoever. He hadn't even been with Gregory yet, not properly, anyhow, and already he had turned into quite the lecherous deviant.  
   
Mycroft nearly stumbled into Watson's backside as Mickey nudged him companionably, winking lasciviously and nodding eagerly at the smaller man's figure. "In't 'e a fine little morsel?"  
   
The lieutenant cast a look over his shoulder, the mighty frown on his face belying the merry twinkle in his eye. Mycroft reached out to grab at Mickey's arm and squeezed hard. " _Behave_ yourself, ruffian. I would be more than happy to fetch Gregory so that he could finish the job he began earlier." Mickey held up his free hand in surrender and pulled a sulk as he rubbed at the arm that Mycroft had abused. "I do apologise for this animal's behaviour, Lieutenant Watson."  
   
"No need, sir. I don't mind at all." Mickey leered openly as Watson's eyes travelled up and down his hulking form. Mycroft felt his eyebrows jump up as he re-evaluated his prior impression of the smaller man. Ah. A taste for danger, then. A man who knew how to handle himself and others, intelligent enough to weigh the risk of an action before taking it, willing enough to take the potential consequences of said action. The lieutenant caught Mycroft's calculating expression and cleared his throat awkwardly as they turned a corner. "Would this Gregory be Greg Lestrade, by any chance?"  
   
"He would indeed." Mycroft shook himself as his voice once again turned icy. He really must learn to control that bothersome emotion.  
    
"Ah. I'd wondered where he'd got to. We'd arranged to have a two-handed rubber when he came back from his patrol. I was beginning to worry." He set his tray on a small table standing outside a solid door.  
   
Mickey chuckled. "Don't ye worry none about our Greggy, little 'un. He'll be in fine 'ands tonight."  
   
He gave Mycroft another friendly shove, and the red-haired man rolled his eyes as he stumbled awkwardly. He pointed to a chair on the other side of the table. "You. Sit." He turned to Watson. "If you would be so kind as to wait with the ruffian after you announce me? Oh, and find him a pen and some paper." He glared pointedly at Mickey. "Make it as brief as possible, but make sure you emphasise the danger she may find herself in."  
   
"Of course, sir." After a brief knock at the door, the smaller man entered with his tray, Mycroft following. "Captain Dobson, Mr. Holmes would like a word, if you don't mind."  
   
Mycroft tilted his head at the lieutenant as he flashed a small grin at him. He was fairly certain that he hadn't mentioned his name, and he knew that his face wasn't exactly the most recognisable within the organisation. He did value his secrets, after all. The captain leapt to his feet and immediately started toadying as Watson backed out of the room. Oh, he was one of those. Mycroft sighed heavily. How fabulous.  
   
After an extremely trying twenty minutes, Mycroft stepped out of the room to find Watson massaging Mickey's abused jaw, his small but obviously strong fingers working at the muscle gently. He drew a length of bandage out of his pocket and wrapped it under his chin, tying it in an efficient knot on the top of his head. "Don't try to open it again for the rest of the night. That'll help keep the joint in place and keep the pain at bay, at least until the morning. I don't know how many times it's been knocked loose, but you're in danger of the damn thing slipping out on its own if you don't behave yourself."  
   
Mycroft smiled faintly as he watched Mickey scowl at the little man while simultaneously attempting to flirt, his eyes fluttering becomingly. It was an extremely disconcerting expression on the hulking figure's bruised face, and the head of the Head Office snorted inelegantly. Watson turned to him, eyes twinkling in high humour. "Medically trained, then?"  
   
"Yes, sir. I do my bit where I can."  
   
"Of course you do. Dobson tells me you're a fine soldier, and a crack shot besides." Watson nodded curtly, no unbecoming pride in his face as he simply acknowledged the facts. "Excellent. I was hoping you'd do Mickey the honour of delivering his letter to his wife in Chatham. She's to join us here in London as soon as possible. No trains tonight, of course, so if you would take a trusted man and a couple of horses without delay, it would be much appreciated." He turned toward Mickey. "I think we're safe enough for her to travel by train in the morning, as long as she's aware of the situation and there are men on alert. Would you agree?" Mickey nodded, only the twisting and twining of his fingers betraying his sense of worry.  
   
Watson reached out and gave one meaty arm a gentle squeeze. "We'll see her safe, Mick. I promise you."  
   
"Did he apprise you of what we may be facing?"  
   
"Well enough. I'll see him settled, then arm myself and one other before heading out. I assume that the Captain has been notified?" The lieutenant's spine had straightened, his entire demeanour switching from concerned medico to highly-trained soldier in but one brief moment. Mycroft nodded curtly. "Very well. There's no need for you to linger, sir. I know that you have other matters to attend to."  
   
Watson's deep-blue eyes started to sparkle again, and Mycroft sighed, rolling his eyes to the heavens. "Mickey, you are a _devil_." The changeling shrugged idly, as if to say, _'And?'_ Then he stepped in front of Mycroft, putting his hands on his shoulders, holding his eyes with his. He narrowed them slightly, and added a bit of pressure to his grip, just enough that Mycroft had to fight the urge to squirm away from him. Then his eyes softened, and he pressed a light kiss to the middle of his forehead. Mycroft blinked, grinning crookedly. "I understand. I will do everything in my power to keep him from harm. If that should ever happen, I will eagerly submit myself to your tender justice." He looked up, feeling a hitch in his chest as a single tear dripped from one watery blue eye. "This I do swear to you."  
   
Something fierce and proud flashed over the changeling's face, and Watson cleared his throat as he tugged on Mickey's arm, pulling him back slightly. "If I may be so bold, Mr. Holmes?"  
   
"What's that, Lieutenant Watson?"  
   
"I've no doubt you'll do just fine by him. Now away with you."  
   
Mycroft rocked back slightly at the smaller man's impudence, but nodded curtly as he turned on his heel. He was now quite certain that Watson was just the man to see Maisie back safe to London, and that they would undoubtedly meet again. Her Majesty had rebuked him on several occasions for not having a personal guard at his side. Perhaps it was time to remedy that. He smiled to himself as he contemplated what Gregory might think of the idea. Most likely, he would attempt to keep him all to himself. Not that Mycroft would object to that at all. Oh, no.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ride to Baker Street...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hullo, my lovelies! So here we have our two heroes, alone at last, although Greg is being sickeningly proper. I think Mycroft is about ready to blow a gasket... :)
> 
> Next chapter will have the naughty bits, I promise. And perhaps a bit of excitement and danger as well. Not entirely sure yet!
> 
> Please do comment, keep the muse fed...
> 
> *mwah*

After apologising to the driver for the delay, Mycroft gave him his Baker Street address and clambered back into the hansom. He smiled at the motionless heap of a man that was slumped down in his seat, his bowler pulled down low over his eyes as his chest rose and fell with steady respiration. Mycroft sat across from him, careful not to jostle the legs that were sprawled rather artlessly between the seats. He was only able to enjoy the unimpeded view for a few moments before one of those lovely but oh-so-wicked grins put in an appearance, spreading slowly over Gregory's face. He tapped at Mycroft's leg with one of his boots as he pushed himself upright in his seat, tipping his hat back as he yawned mightily.  
   
"A bit disappointed that you din't just climb up into my lap, love." Mycroft cleared his throat uneasily. Truthfully, the idea had occurred to him, and had enormous appeal, but he had felt that it might be just a bit presumptuous at this stage in their acquaintance. Gregory chuckled softly, holding out one hand and beckoning to him. "Come on, then. You are far too far away for my comfort."  
   
Mycroft bit his lip as he reached out, gasping audibly as he was instantly pulled in close, and he simply had no choice but to straddle Gregory's sturdy thighs, gingerly settling down on his knees. Gregory hummed as he ran his hands around and down, cupping Mycroft's arse quite firmly. He let out a shudder as the warmth of those broad hands began to seep through his garments, breathing out a sigh against Gregory's lips. Oh. Oh, yes. "Gregory, my love..."  
   
Gregory moaned as he took his mouth in a slow, heated kiss. "Your voice, saying my name. Saying those words. Oh, my sweet."  
   
Mycroft relaxed into his Fated's embrace, all thought simply fading into the background as he catalogued new sights and smells and oh yes, tastes, the sharp tang of sweat on Gregory's temple, the utterly delicious odour emanating from just behind his ear. The needy little noises in the back of his throat as Mycroft nibbled delicately on jaw and neck, the soft laugh as his teeth closed down gently on his eyebrow and down along his nose, ending up right where he needed to be, tentatively flickering his tongue along the seam of Gregory's lips. He withdrew slightly as Gregory eagerly opened his mouth, growling again as he chased after him.  
   
"Teasing's no fair, love."  
   
Mycroft darted in to press a swift kiss to one corner of Gregory's lips and then to the other, giggling quietly as the object of his affection turned his head this way and that, striving to capture his mouth. "Not even a little?"  
   
_"No."_ There was another low growl as Gregory pulled him in as close as he was able, and Mycroft trembled as he felt the sound vibrating through his own chest. "Not even a tiny little bit, you tart." Mycroft moaned as Gregory wound his fingers through the hair at the back of his head, holding him firmly in place as he once again plundered his mouth. Mycroft's prick was as stiff as an iron rod in his trousers, and he fought valiantly against the urge to rut against Gregory's stomach, losing his battle after a scant fifteen seconds. Gregory broke off their kiss with a drawn-out groan, reaching between them to place the palm of his hand firmly against the bulge that was pressing almost painfully into him. "Oh, my pet, my sweet little dove... I _will_ assist in relieving your pain, I promise you. But not here."  
   
"N-no, Gregory. I must c-concur. This is not the appropriate setting." Mycroft bit his lip as he nodded, but couldn't seem to still the tiny rolling motions of his hips, until Gregory placed both hands on them and firmly pushed him to the edges of his knees, just far enough away to break the contact between their bodies.  
   
"Let's calm ourselves a bit, yes?" Mycroft nodded again, breathing as evenly as he could through his nose, bracing his hands on Gregory's forearms. "Were you able to get Mickey settled properly, get the note for Maisie and all?"  
   
Mycroft continued to concentrate on his breathing for a few moments, waiting until he was certain that he would be able to speak without a tremor in his voice. "Yes. We determined that since a train would not be available until the morning that we would send at least two men out there on horseback, to return in the morning with Mrs. Mickey."  
   
Gregory rolled his eyes with a little grin. "Smith. Mickey and Marjorie Smith, my love." Mycroft lifted one elegant eyebrow as Gregory shrugged. "No, not his proper surname, obviously. He was orphaned when his mum died birthing him. She din't give a name and the home wasn't exactly staffed by the most imaginative or sympathetic folk. So 'Smith' it is, as it was for any number of those poor lost souls." He tilted his head slightly. "Did you meet with the men that were sent, or did you leave that all to Captain Dobson?"  
   
"Actually, I happened to chance upon one Lieutenant Watson as we were making our entrance. He quite seemed to take to Mickey. Due to that and to Dobson's rather high opinion of the man, I volunteered him for the mission."  
   
"Ah, Johnny!" Gregory smiled broadly, his cheeks tinging a light pink. "Well done, love. I don't think there's a better man in the whole Company for this sort of thing. Very solid fellow, and I'd eat my hat if he weren't to prove the best shot in the entire building."  
   
Mycroft frowned as he felt that familiar icy sensation wrap around his heart. "Your praise seems even more effusive. Watson did admit to feeling some concern for you after you failed to show for your card game. Are you and he..." Mycroft glanced down and twirled his wrist vaguely before looking back up. "Had you two... You know..."  
   
Gregory bit his lip, and Mycroft smirked as he realised that it was his attempt to keep from simply laughing at him outright. "No, my dear lamb, John and I have not _'you know'ed_. I try to keep that sort of thing clear from Company business, as those particular situations tend to end messily. Not that I hadn't thought about it and had been sorely tempted to express my interest upon many occasions. After all, you did get a good gander - and in uniform, you lucky bastard. He cuts rather a dashing figure, wouldn't you say?"

Mycroft felt his jealousy begin to settle down a bit, reading only truth in his Fated's face. "Indeed I would. I believe the phrase that Mickey used was 'fine little morsel'."  
   
Gregory started giggling madly, causing Mycroft to moan quietly as his body was jostled along with his merriment. He found himself being pulled down into Gregory's embrace again, content this time to simply rest his cheek on his shoulder until his laughter calmed down. "I'm thinking of perhaps asking Watson to come work for me directly, as my personal guard. Her Majesty has often expressed that She feels that I have been remiss with regards to my own safety."  
   
"Well, you have a lot of things to consider, don't you? I can see how a man such as yourself would not deem such a thing necessary. After all, you are but one piece among many on the chessboard."  
   
"Yes! That's it precisely. I am but one man, and only a minor official to boot. I am not so important or grand as to flaunt my power so openly."  
   
Gregory hummed, caressing his back gently. "And yet, you report directly to Her Majesty. And nearly every day, I imagine."  
   
"Much can happen in a mere twenty-four hours, my dear."  
   
"Oh, I am very aware of that, love. I was simply attempting to demonstrate that perhaps you are a little more important than you'd like to admit." Gregory reached up to run his finger along Mycroft's jaw. "You are certainly the most important person in my life, and yes, I'd like to see you safe. I don't know what I would do if something were to happen to you. My own men would most likely have to put me down like a rabid dog."  
   
"Gregory! Kindly do _not_ say such things!" Mycroft put a hand to his heart. "Oh gods, I think it stopped for a moment..." His human seat chuckled quietly. "You - you would not object to seeing another man at my side?"  
   
"Not if it's a certain John H. Watson, no. He may twinkle at you becomingly and all that, but he's the very picture of propriety. If you left him alone with Mickey for any length of time, then he is certainly well aware of our situation."

"Oh yes, he knows. You might even say he approves."

Gregory laughed again. "You must have left them alone for a good long while." He smiled softly. "John would never seek to impugn your honour in any fashion, love. I would trust him to keep you safe, and I would trust you to turn down any of his advances if he were foolish enough to offer them." He patted Mycroft's bottom reassuringly. "So how much did Mickey spill to you, then?" Mycroft tilted his head as he sat up, raising one eyebrow. "Oh, come now. I know him very well, and a soul of discretion he most certainly is _not_."

Mycroft giggled quietly before sobering slightly. "He did share what manner of creature resides in your blood, but not much beyond that."

Gregory sighed, running a hand up and down Mycroft's back in a motion that seemed to soothe him as much as it did the man perched in his lap. "My three times great grandmother had herself an illicit and very ill-advised romance, and once she was with child, he revealed himself to be a shapeshifter before taking his leave. I suppose he did her a favour by not tearing her to shreds once he'd had his fun, although she claimed until her dying day that it was because he loved her." He paused briefly, a tiny wrinkle forming on his brow. "Not that I think that such a thing is beyond belief. After all, I din't believe in this sort of thing either." He gestured between them, pausing to steal another small kiss. "Not until it happened to me, to _us_." Gregory sighed again. "She gave birth to a girl, and at first they weren't sure if she was going to make it, she was such a weak little thing. From the tales that have been passed down through the generations, she never shifted. The taint seemed to pass along the mother's bloodline, but any hint of it only ever manifested in the males. I'm the last. I had a sister, but she was brought down by the cholera epidemic back in '48. She was five."

"Oh, Gregory..."

"No, love. I was only two, I honestly don't remember. My mum would often tell stories about her, about how much she adored me, but it was difficult for me to feel anything. How do you mourn a stranger?" He shook his head slightly, seeming to brush away his lingering sorrow. "Even as a lad I was bigger and faster than the others. Stronger. You know how these things are; changelings usually come into their Fae heritage around puberty. For me, perhaps because it had been part of the bloodline for so long, it was like I always had access to the pleasanter aspects." Gregory flexed one hand into a fist and released it again, laughing somewhat hollowly. "Like it wanted to trick me into tapping into that power, into making the conscious decision to let go, to shift fully. That's how it has to happen for most of us with Fae in our blood - we have to choose. Embrace our heritage, or choose mortality. For the most part, I've remained human. My anger gets the best of me sometimes, and the beast slips out just a bit, but I've always been able to cage it back up again."

"Tonight, at the tavern, when you nearly killed Mickey..."

Gregory sighed heavily. "That would have most likely been my turning point, yes. I don't think I would have been able to contain it after that."

"I would offer some glib platitude about you being lucky that I was there, but the truth of the matter is that none of it would have happened if not for my presence."

" _No_ , love. Don't you be thinking that way. Meeting up with you has made this the luckiest night of my life." Gregory fiddled idly with one of the buttons on Mycroft's waistcoat. "If I had hurt him, though... Once the rage had worn off and I'd realised what I'd done, I don't even know - I can't think..."

Mycroft trailed his fingertips along Gregory's hand, around his wrist. "He's a dear friend."

"More. Like a brother. We've known each other for nearly a quarter-century. If anything truly damaging were to happen to him by my hand, I think I would cut it off." Gregory scoffed suddenly. "Although I do confess the urge to smack him around a bit more. Drugs! Of all the things to become involved with, the buffoon. After seeing so many of our friends succumb over the years... Idiot."

"I think we may find that his involvement is not entirely of his own choosing, my dear. For a man with troll in his blood, he seems remarkably kind-hearted."

Gregory chuckled quietly. "Oh, he's got to you, has he? Really, he's nothing more than a big ball of fluff. Not that he can't be fierce when he needs to be - and intimidating as hell. He mostly just gets by on his size alone, but it's all bark and hardly any bite. Probably why he let me beat the stuffing out of him back at the tavern."

"I am not entirely sure about that, Gregory. He seemed to be truly frightened."

Mycroft frowned as his human chair went still, a pensive look settling over his face. "Not surprised. He's seen me like that before, and the results were not pleasant. He got in between me and the person I was really angry with, and... Well. Broke his arm in two places. Snapped me out of it pretty damn quick, but he refused to accept my apologies. Kept on telling me that it wasn't my fault, that it wasn't really me. He's always had far too much faith in me."

"Don't sell yourself short, my love. I firmly believe that Mickey has placed his faith in just the right person." Mycroft cupped Gregory's jaw in his hand, running his thumb over his cheekbone. "And neither you nor I will let him down if we can help it. Am I correct?"

Gregory reached up to hold Mycroft's hand to his face. "Mycroft Holmes, I do believe I love you..."

The noise that escaped from Mycroft's lips could not possibly even be classified as human, but since Gregory was busily engaged in licking said noise right out of his mouth, he just shrugged mentally and carried on. Of course that was the moment that the hansom came to a creaking halt, the momentum nearly jostling Mycroft from his comfy perch.

Home at last! "Oh, thank _Jupiter_..."  
   
Another quiet chuckle, and Gregory patted his bottom encouragingly. "Off with you. My body's aching for what I hope is a truly decadent bed."  
   
Mycroft grinned cheekily as he backed off of Gregory's knees. "I never thought so before, but I believe it will be once you're unclothed and spread out on it..."  
   
Gregory sighed and rolled his eyes to the heavens. "A natural tart, that's what you are. I find it very hard to believe that you never harboured any naughty thoughts before this evening."  
   
"Oh, but I am utterly innocent, my love." Mycroft fluttered his eyelashes at Gregory's boisterous laughter. "It will be your responsibility to see that I am _thoroughly_ despoiled."  
   
Gregory growled low, his eyes twinkling as Mycroft's body shuddered visibly. "A duty that I will happily fulfil, but not before we're behind your door. Now get out of this cab before I am forced to drag you out by your ear."  
   
Mycroft threw the door open, and in his haste it flew back and collided with the body of the carriage, invoking an outraged "Oi!" on the part of the driver. He stumbled out and apologised profusely, handing the man yet another coin while attempting to hide his outrageous blush. When he turned, he found Gregory waiting at the door, disguising his impatience by studying the building's façade.

He noticed him watching and grinned crookedly. "Nice. Are you on your own here?"  
   
Mycroft shook his head as he pulled out his key. "My younger brother also resides here and we employ a very nice lady to act as housekeeper and cook. Although to hear her tell it, she's just our landlady..." He turned the key in the lock and led the way inside, a finger to his lips. "Mrs. Hudson will no doubt already be abed at this time of night, but Sherlock keeps abysmal hours. He'll be in his room upstairs conducting an experiment or other." Mycroft lit one of the gas lamps standing ready by the door and adjusted the flame slightly before taking it in hand.  
   
"Scientist?"  
   
"Chemist. Or at least he likes to think so. Sometimes I praise Jupiter that our humble abode has not been burnt down around our ears." He shushed Gregory again as the silver-haired man began to laugh, and the look on his face as he tried to swallow his merriment nearly made Mycroft choke on his own giggles. Gods, he felt as giddy as a schoolboy... He pointed up the stairs to the second floor and then began to lead the way, his cheeks burning as he felt Gregory's eyes firmly affixed to his backside.

Mycroft began to dither as the silence of the flat settled into his senses, his insecurities coming to the forefront of his mind. Gregory was the very portrait of the masculine ideal; strong, hearty and obviously very well-versed in the physical forms of love. Whereas he had always been more intellectual, more reserved. Mycroft supposed that he wasn't wholly unattractive, but he knew that before tonight, any offers that he had been made were simply because of who he was in the Company, and not for himself alone. But Gregory had seen him - Mycroft - _not_ Mr. Holmes, and had declared him pleasing to his eye. He glanced back as they reached the landing and for the second time in less than a quarter-hour, it seemed as though his heart stilled in his chest. Gregory's eyes were dark and soft in the dim light, completely focused on his face. As though reading his doubts, he tenderly cupped Mycroft's jaw and brought him in for an utterly delicious kiss, slow, deep and oh-so-sweet that it nearly made his teeth ache.

Of course, something else entirely was aching as he was released, and Mycroft whimpered slightly as that wondrous combination of heat and spice withdrew from him. Gregory grinned and nodded down the corridor, and Mycroft could barely manage to get his feet to function properly. He glared down at them angrily, until they at last obeyed his commands. He dipped his arm into the room at the right as he moved down the hall, and voice hushed, said, "Sitting room."

Gregory's eyes did not move from his face. "Lovely."  
   
Oh, his heart. The foul organ was misbehaving again, and Mycroft was sure that Gregory would be able to hear it thumping obnoxiously in his chest from where he stood. He swallowed uneasily and continued to move, this time turning to the left to illuminate the lavatory. Gregory stepped in close, and Mycroft nearly swooned from the wave of heat that washed over him, both from his Fated's proximity and his own body betraying him, breaking out into very unbecoming perspiration. This time, something in the room captured Gregory's eyes, and an utterly delighted smile bloomed on his face.  
   
"Are those taps? You have running water here?"  
   
Mycroft nodded, biting his lip. "Indeed. Hot, and cold."  
   
Gregory's excitement was enchanting to watch, and Mycroft found himself relaxing suddenly, his trepidation melting away under a gleaming smile. " _Ooh._  And that's quite the large tub, love."  
   
" _Mm._  Besides the salary that I'm drawing from Her Majesty's coffers, the Holmes estate has always been rather prosperous. I find that it's exceedingly gauche to wave my good fortune around, but when it comes to matters of personal comfort, I must admit to turning a blind eye to the cost of such things."  
   
"Nothing wrong with a little luxury, my sweet. As long as it doesn't put one in the poorhouse, of course." Gregory tilted his head toward the large cast-iron monstrosity. "Shall we have a dip, then?"  
   
Mycroft returned his shy smile, reaching out to trace his fingers along his arm. Gregory tangled their fingers together without delay, and Mycroft couldn't help but shiver with delight. "Perhaps tomorrow. You still seem rather fatigued, and I have a distinct impression that if I were to dunk you in that truly glorious and oh-so-warm water, you would simply fall asleep on me. Since I am in no manner as strong as you, I'm afraid that I would have to leave you to pass your slumber in the tub, and you would no doubt be extremely put out about it the next day. I would really rather prefer to avoid any foul moods if at all possible."  
   
Gregory giggled. "I think that you'd manage to find a way to cheer me up, love." He sighed melodramatically, eyeing the tub with avarice. "Later, then. I will take that as a promise."  
   
"It shall be a trial to uphold such a vow, but I will do my best."  
   
_"Pfft."_ Once again, those large, dark eyes were fixed on his, and Mycroft felt his mouth go dry. Sensing that if Gregory pulled him in now, it truly would be a trial to make it the short distance to his private suite, he turned away abruptly, tugging at his Fated's hand.  
   
Gregory followed willingly, just one step behind as Mycroft finally stopped at his bedroom door. He resolutely did not look behind him as he pushed the door open and strode in.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gregory's beast puts in a perhaps not unexpected appearance...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so not the smut that I was hoping for, but that will definitely be happening in the next chapter. I was a little surprised by the turn that this took, but that happens all too often for me to really be upset about it. 
> 
> Sooo... Please do comment, let me know if this is still meeting expectations. 
> 
> I hope you are all having a grand holiday season, celebrating or not as you wish, with friends and/or loved ones, or all on your own!
> 
> *mwah*

There was a soft click as Gregory closed the door behind him, but Mycroft deliberately kept his eyes from wandering in his direction, distracting himself by lighting the two additional lamps on either side of his four-poster bed. Mrs. Hudson had already turned down the bedclothes for him, the plush mattress seeming somehow obscenely inviting in its nakedness. He cleared his throat uneasily as he heard the soft sound of fabric rustling, a coat being discarded and set aside. Mycroft finally lifted his eyes as metal clinked against metal, and found Gregory's attention focused entirely on unbuckling the leather harness that was holding that ridiculous firearm secure to his body. 

Mycroft drifted over to the washstand, watching out of the corner of his eye as every tool in Gregory's arsenal was removed and carefully set aside, laid out on the side table just to the right of his bedroom door. He poured a bit of water out of the pitcher into the basin, dunking a small cloth into it. Still warm, so Mrs. Hudson must have prepared his room for the night less than an hour past. Mycroft carefully wrung out the cloth and went to Gregory, waiting until the last knife was removed from his boot before holding out his hand wordlessly. 

Gregory smiled and placed his right hand in Mycroft's grip, wincing briefly as the dried blood was gently scrubbed away. He wasn't even sure how much of it was Mickey's and how much Gregory's, but the discolouration under the skin of his knuckles was still evident even as the swelling had already mostly dissipated. Gregory shrugged idly as Mycroft peered at the small marks on the two middle fingers, the scars fresh and pink, the flesh already knitting together rather nicely as a result of the Fae in his blood. He gently pressed his lips to Gregory's knuckles, his body trembling as he took in the remarkable fact that they were only there because of him. Insignificant though they may be, the wounds were proof of a sort. Proof of his Fated's protective and fierce nature, indeed, proof of love for him. 

His eyes drifted to Gregory's left shoulder, the white linen of his shirt stained red with his blood. Mycroft reached for it, fingering the material out of the way in a vain attempt to see the damage that he had wrought earlier in the evening. Gregory swiftly captured his hand and laid a gentle kiss on his palm. "Let me, love. Can't have you tearing up my garments as well as my body - I can't exactly conjure new clothing out of nothing but air, so I'll have to mend this as it is." Mycroft bit his lip and nodded, watching avidly as the first set of buttons was released on the snug-fitting waistcoat, and then the second. He realised that his entire body was trembling, and fought to control himself, rather in vain. Gregory turned his back and laid his waistcoat on top of the pile of weaponry and hesitated for a long moment.  

"Gregory? Is something wrong?"  

"I..." He turned back, his lips twisted with uncertainty. "I'm not exactly the prettiest thing in creation, that's all." Gregory's eyes lifted to his, and Mycroft was startled to see that they were full of pain and doubt. "Usually it's of no consequence - chances are that whoever I'm sporting with won't be back for a second helping anyway. But you're different. I - I don't want to scare you off." Gregory's voice broke into a low tremulous note. "I wouldn't be able to stand it if you were afraid of me."  

Mycroft swiftly pressed himself in close, clasping Gregory's head in his hands. "That is quite the preposterous notion, my dear. I am in love with you, Gregory Lestrade." He blushed as Gregory's chest shuddered against his. "That is something that before this night I never even believed would be possible. You could be put together like a child's ragdoll under this cloth, and the only thing I would feel, indeed, the only thing I am feeling now is sheer astonishment that you are here with me. That someone so warm, so full of life, would be willing to share that with someone like me. Cold and dreary, little more than a lifeless statue..." He sniffled quietly, utterly appalled at his thoroughly embarrassing show of emotion.  

Gregory leant into him with a quiet chuckle, pressing their foreheads together as he wrapped his arms around Mycroft's waist. "Hush, love. Seems we both have our own little failings to work on, doesn't it?"  

"Together, yes. As you so astutely made mention of earlier." Gregory hummed contentedly as Mycroft rubbed their noses together then quickly set to work covering his face in kisses. Mycroft giggled suddenly. "I feel quite ridiculous."

Gregory drew back slightly, his dark eyes sparkling as they danced over Mycroft's face. "Oh, but you look - and feel - wonderful, my sweet."  

Heat flooded Mycroft's skin as he trailed his fingers down Gregory's neck, fiddling with the collar of his shirt. "Perhaps you will permit me the honour of removing this so that I might say the same of you?" There was another swift flash of doubt, but it vanished under a wicked grin as Mycroft employed his one sure trick, the sultry glance from under his lashes. Gregory chuckled as he nodded, his own cheeks gone quite an intriguing shade of pink. Mycroft swallowed audibly as his fingers came to rest on the first button, but to his great frustration found that his hands were trembling so violently that they refused to work properly, or indeed at all. He growled incoherently. "Well, blast it all to hell!"  

Gregory laughed again as he gently pried Mycroft's hands loose and brought them up to his mouth before deliberately moving them to his hips. "You just hold on to me for a moment. I have a notion that may help to calm the both of us." He once again put their foreheads together, closing his eyes and breathing in deeply. Mycroft copied him, smiling faintly as Gregory's breath brushed over his lips. The warmth of his Fated's aura began to seep into his consciousness, over his body, swirling up around his legs, caressing his spine and cradling his neck. "Let me in, love."

 _"Oh."_ Mycroft hadn't even been aware that they had both been firmly holding their shields in place since the ride in the hansom, but now that they were alone, truly alone... Rather than dropping his barrier outright, Mycroft allowed it to dissolve slowly, imagining his aura as cool fingers trailing over Gregory's skin. The pleasant shudder that ran through his body as well as the heady moan that echoed through the room made him smirk in triumph.

His smile was wiped away as Gregory pressed his lips to it, licking his way into Mycroft's mouth, swallowing his quiet whimper. "Better, yeah?"

Mycroft blinked. "Much, my love." He tilted his head as he felt his shoulders dropping slightly. "I do find your presence to be immeasurably comforting. How odd it is to be both excited and calmed by the same thing." He grinned again as he clutched at Gregory's hips. "However, I still do not entirely trust my fingers to work properly."

Those lovely dark eyes rolled toward the ceiling, and Gregory snorted quietly as he raised his hands to his neck. "Allow me, then." Mycroft nearly shook out of his skin as those utterly delicious fingers finally started to work those irritating buttons loose. He could still feel some lingering doubt in the tension of Gregory's body, but it began to fade as he traced small circles on his sides with his thumbs.

The first scar that was revealed was situated practically over Gregory's heart, a red blotch about half the size of his palm. There was hair surrounding the area, but none on the mark itself. Mycroft blinked at it briefly, his mind gone somewhat blank. "Is... Is that a burn?"

Mycroft glanced up at Gregory's face as he swallowed audibly, a little click in the back of his throat. "Fire drake." He blushed fiercely at Mycroft's astonished gasp. "A very little one, just a baby, really. We got him safely back to his mother in Faerie, and she was extremely grateful." He grinned suddenly. "Let us pick from her hoard and all." Gregory's voice softened as he pressed a kiss to Mycroft's lips. "I'll show you what I got, perhaps you'd like to choose a stone for your ring."

"R-ring?"

Mycroft gaped stupidly as Gregory smiled at him with fond bemusement. "Well, yes. We're Fated, soon to be bonded. We don't have to have a ceremony if you don't want one, but I would like for you to at least wear some token of my affection."

"You wish to show that I am taken. That I am unavailable." Mycroft quirked an eyebrow, allowing a bit of humour to colour his voice. "That's rather crude, don't you think? Possessive."

Gregory huffed out a quiet burst of laughter as he continued to unbutton his shirt. "I'll make no apologies for claiming what is rightfully mine, but it's more than that. Consider it a matter of pride, knowing that I have one of the most powerful men in London as my mate. The smartest, handsomest, sexiest creature ever to walk these streets, and we belong to each other. Why wouldn't I want everybody to know that?"

Mycroft gaped again, his tongue quivering in his mouth as his brain raced to catch up. Gregory smiled softly and took his hands in his, pressing a kiss to his ring finger before placing them on his naked chest. "Oh. Oh _my_..." Mycroft's fingers flexed almost subconsciously, digging into silver and black chest hair. "I will wear your ring proudly, my love. For why would I not wish to show that I belong to the fiercest, strongest, most astonishingly beautiful man that anyone has ever laid eyes upon?" His eyes fluttered as he straightened out his fingers and slowly began to sweep them from side to side, keeping his gaze locked on Gregory's face as he explored him by touch alone.

The object of his intense regard shivered under his hands, the cords in his neck standing out as he fought the urge to throw back his head in ecstasy. Mycroft hummed idly as he leant down and mouthed at the burn mark, his fingers tripping lightly over every blemish they came across. Gregory moaned as he threaded his fingers into the hair at the back of Mycroft's head, convulsively pulling him in closer. "Gods, _Mycroft_. What you're doing to me..."

Mycroft pulled away slightly to look at an irregular circular scar to the right of Gregory's sternum. "This one seems older. Do they not ever fade?" His eyes darted back up to Gregory's face. "Can - can you be killed?"

"Of course I can, my love. I am still mortal, even with my Fae heritage. If my opponent happens to damage something vital, or hit a vein, I will bleed out just the same as any man. Cut off my head, that's done for one Gregory Lestrade. I think that if I happen to lose a limb and survive, it may grow back at some point, but I haven't had the opportunity to test that theory." He wiggled his fingers against Mycroft's sides. "Thought about it once or twice, maybe hacking off a pinkie to see what may happen." 

"You will do no such thing! Not _ever_ , oh gods..." Gregory's hold tightened as Mycroft swayed against him slightly.

"It would be an interesting experiment, don't you think?" He smiled gently as Mycroft shook his head emphatically. "I heal fast, yes, but there's always a mark left behind. Some may fade, eventually, but I don't think they vanish completely. I've quite lost track, to be honest." He sucked in a harsh breath as Mycroft's fingers found the long jagged line low on his right side. "Ah, except for that one, of course. That one nearly _had_ done for me." His lips twisted wryly as Mycroft crouched slightly, pulling the fabric of his shirt loose from his trousers so he could have an unimpeded view. Gregory looked down at him solemnly, even as Mycroft’s touch made his skin quiver. "Did you know that a kelpie’s hooves are really quite sharp? Had to stuff some of my guts back in after that one.” His face broke out in a cheeky grin as he chuckled at himself.

Mycroft frowned mightily. "Gregory! I hardly think that any occasion in which you find your insides on your outside is a situation in which to find levity!"

"Ah, you'll get used to it. It's either laugh, or go mad."

"Hadn't we already established that you are quite mad?" Mycroft's eyes roamed hungrily over his torso, his fingers now mapping the curves of his pectorals, the intriguing dips and valleys of his abdominal muscles. He growled low as Gregory sucked in a breath, his skin twitching at every light touch. "And divine. Oh _sweet_ Venus..."

Gregory's face took on an odd mixture of pride and confusion as he looked down at the numerous scrapes and scratches that marred his skin. "You're not repulsed by my appearance?"

Mycroft's brows drew together in consternation. "Mad indeed. And blind, apparently. Would I be looking at you like this if I were repulsed? Would every particle of my physical body be straining toward you if I were repulsed?" He suddenly pushed himself into Gregory's thigh, groaning with relief as he ground his erection into him hard. "Feel that, and tell me that I am shamming my attraction to you, my need for you. Gregory. My love." Mycroft trembled as he rolled his hips, tucking his nose into his Fated's neck and inhaling him deeply. "You are a marvel, a gorgeous and remarkable miracle. Each of these marks of yours are precious to me. Do you know why?"  

Gregory moaned quietly. "T-tell me."

"Because every one of them made you who you are today. Each one brought you closer to me, to this moment." Mycroft began to kiss each one in turn, employing his tongue to catalogue the differences between smooth unbroken flesh and the puckered tissue. "Every mark, every scar - every wound, each pain. They are all beautiful, all treasured. Because they are you, my love."

Gregory stood astonished as Mycroft swiftly divested him of his shirt completely, tossing it down on the floor carelessly, his eyes glittering with greed as they swept over his naked torso. This, the map of his Fated's life, scribed indelibly upon his flesh by tooth and claw and Minerva knew what else - oh. This was easily the most priceless artefact that Mycroft had ever laid eyes upon, and it was all his. He could tell that his open admiration was having a positive effect on his Gregory, as he was standing a bit taller, his shoulders thrown back with pride. As well they should be, because he truly was a magnificent specimen.

Broad and firmly muscled, sinewy and agile, every plane and curve of his body spoke of power, strength and speed. Mycroft's mouth began to water as he looked upon him, and then his eyes lit upon the newest of seemingly endless scars, the shiny pink circle of upraised flesh on his left shoulder. The eternal reminder of the wound that he himself had inflicted earlier in the evening, what seemed like a lifetime ago now. Without thinking, Mycroft ducked his head and ran his tongue along the faint trail of blood that had dried on Gregory's chest and arm, closing his lips around the wound and sucking gently.

His teeth closed around it as he was abruptly lifted from his feet, and almost by instinct, he wrapped his arms and legs securely around his would-be abductor. Gregory snarled his approval as Mycroft ran his teeth up and along the ridge of his shoulder, over his neck to his earlobe, which he tugged on fiercely. He laughed quietly in Gregory's ear as his hands clamped hard onto his backside. "I was going to enquire just how strong you are, but I think I have my answer already."

Gregory growled again, and Mycroft buried his hands in silvered hair that was beginning to curl at the nape of his neck, clutching it tight. When his lover spoke, his voice was once again buzzing with that harsh, distinctly non-human inflection. "Strong enough to keep you right where I want you as I fuck all the spirit out of you, my sweet morsel."

Mycroft shuddered as his limbs tightened, and he rutted shamelessly against Gregory's stomach. He pulled back far enough to look into bottomless black pools and moaned as he writhed against him. "My love - please. I need to feel your touch, your breath upon me. Oh please..."

Another low growl, and Gregory's beast smiled broadly, showing abnormally white razor-like teeth. "You would have _this_ mouth on you, my helpless beauty?" His strong hands dug into his bottom a bit harder, just the very tips of his sharp nails threatening to slice into Mycroft's garments and bite into the flesh underneath. " _These_ hands?"

Mycroft took in a shuddering breath and willed his body back under his control with a harsh gasp. Taking hold of Gregory's head with both hands, he laid soft kisses on his brow and cheeks before taking his mouth, insistently probing with his tongue until Gregory opened for him. He boldly but cautiously flickered his tongue around pointed canines before withdrawing and once again staring deep into the darkened abyss of his Fated's eyes. "I would. Your hands, your mouth. Your body on me and in me. I trust you, Gregory Lestrade. And I want you. _All_ of you."

"You have no idea what you are saying." The beast scoffed loudly before his eyes narrowed dangerously. "Take care how you taunt me, little one. I could easily tear you apart in my quest for pleasure." His smile sharpened as he flexed his fingers again. "The only one who has been able to handle me thus far is that half-blood oaf."

"You'd never hurt me."

His laughter was truly bone-chilling, a sibilant hiss of malicious glee underscoring the harsh tone of his burgeoning anger. "Surely you are smarter than that, my tiny bird. You of all people should know better."  

Mycroft once more twined his fingers deep into that lustrous silver hair, and pulled hard. "You would _never_ hurt me, Gregory."  

"Oh, but I'm not your Gregory, am I? We may share this vessel, but we are not the same being."

"Even if that were true - and it's not - you wish me no more harm than he does."

Gregory's beast stared at him in astonishment as his fingers slackened in their grip slightly. "Before this night you did not even know that either of us roamed the streets of your city, and now you are presuming to tell me my own mind? If I were not holding you in my arms, I would find your arrogance to be quite infuriating." He hummed low in his chest, the vibrations so strong that they made Mycroft's body quiver in response. "Instead I find myself intrigued. Tell me why I shouldn't simply take you as I please."

Mycroft smirked slightly as he considered what he knew of shapeshifters. Quick to anger, yes, but not needlessly cruel. Possessive, territorial. Somewhat capricious in their affections, but once their allegiance was earned, fiercely loyal. And Mycroft had already earned that loyalty – this creature had revealed as much during the altercation back at the tavern. “Because I am your mate. Just as I am his, I am yours. And you can have me as you like. This I do _swear_ to you.”

The blackened eyes widened slightly. “You would willingly lie with me?”

Mycroft’s skin prickled with almost unbearable heat as he writhed in Gregory’s arms. “Oh, my dear - more than that - eagerly, even. I am yours, and I am desperate for you to prove it. I would let you do anything to me that you wish.”

The beast's hold on him was somehow gentled as he sniffed at his temple with almost absurd care. “There is no stink of untruth about you.” He huffed out a sharp blast of hot air against Mycroft’s neck. “But I sense a part of you holding back on your desire. There is something you require from me, yes? I acknowledge that you are to be mine, and as such I will do what I may in order to please you. What is it that you need?”

His would-be captive blinked at him, momentarily stunned into silence. The eyes were still black as pitch, the teeth still sharp as blades, but something in the beast’s face had softened, and he was indeed regarding Mycroft as something precious, something to be treasured and protected. “I – oh, but you are a _wonder_ …” Mycroft cleared his throat with a gusty sigh. “I am not going to deny you, my glorious beast. But tonight, for the first, let it be he and I alone. Please, my love.”

Gregory’s lips twisted. “But you have been so insistent that we are one, the same. Why should it matter?”

“It would not matter to me, but it would to him. I would not have him resenting me or regretting our first time together.” He tilted his head with a soft smile. “Besides, you will still be there, won’t you? In his head, watching through his eyes. He’s the one who tries to deny – you do understand that you are one being, correct?" 

Gregory nuzzled into Mycroft's neck with another low hum. "Yes. Whatever transpires between the two of you, I will be a silent witness. We have access to each other's thoughts and emotions. Even when he is solidly in control, I am able to see and hear everything. But he fights me every moment. Even now he is struggling against me, his heart full of terror. He fears what I may do to you." Mycroft placed his palm flat to Gregory's chest, feeling it beat almost violently underneath his touch. The beast shrugged idly. "Although holding your body so close to mine is having unnameable effects on me, that wild drumming is not of my doing. He fails to understand that we each feel the same for you, and that you are quite correct. You are my mate, and I would never willingly do you harm. He has less faith in himself than you demonstrate for him, my sweet." 

Mycroft smiled crookedly as he let his hand drift along Gregory's chest and up back around his neck. "I will do what I can to alleviate his fears, and perhaps he will be more comfortable with the idea of allowing you to emerge so that we may sport together. Once we are more familiar with one another, he will better understand that I am able to look after for myself, and that I can certainly handle the likes of you, my ferocious beast." 

There was another growl, louder and sharper, and it seemed to take hold of Mycroft's spine as his head went back and he pushed his neck closer to his captor's mouth. There was no hesitation as Gregory's hold on him shifted, one arm around his waist and the other around his torso, holding him even closer to that delightfully hard body. They tightened almost to the point of pain, rather like steel cables. Those sharp teeth nibbled gently at Mycroft's neck, and he gasped as a wave of heat flooded his belly and swiftly radiated through his limbs.

"Oh, I would happily tear every one of these foolish garments off of your delicious form, but I somehow think you wouldn't be too pleased with me afterwards." 

"Th-they are of no consequence. How many times must I insist that I would allow you anything before you believe me?" 

"Once I have had you, then I shall believe with my entire being. Until then, I must be content with experiencing you second-hand. I will withdraw as you have bade me, and allow him to hold me fast within his cage." He nipped at Mycroft's skin just a bit harder. "But do not make me wait for long, little one. If I am held away from you for too long, I just may forget myself in my eagerness. I truly do not wish to hurt you, but I may not be able to control myself once he lets me free." 

"Oh, Gregory..." Mycroft pressed his lips to the beast's desperately, attempting to convey all of the desire he was feeling, all of the yearning deep within his soul. He keened low in his throat as he dimly felt those strong arms loosening in their hold, and he reluctantly placed his feet on the ground once again just in time to catch Gregory's limp form as the shifter in his blood receded completely, holding his lover steady as he shuddered and gasped for breath.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft reveals a bit of his own inner workings, and finally, _finally ___gets his just rewards...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut ahoy! Whee!
> 
> As always, thank you guys so very much for being here and reading my ridiculousness. I adore each and every one of you. 
> 
> Please do comment, keep the muse fed and perhaps she'll let me get back to my main saga for a chapter or two!
> 
> *mwah*

After Gregory had seemed to gather his legs beneath him sufficiently, Mycroft turned him toward the bed and shuffled him over, sitting him down with care. He knelt between his spread thighs and caressed him gently until he had regained the strength to lift his head, opening eyes that were once again warm and brown. Almost immediately his eyebrows drew together, and Mycroft swiftly braced himself both mentally and physically, nearly choking on the dense miasma as the smell of smoke and flame once again flared up.

"And just who is supposed to be the mad one here, hm?" Gregory's voice was low and even, his anger clearly evident even as he fought to contain it. "What were you _thinking_ , Mycroft? Indeed, I wonder if you were thinking at all. You should not have tempted him in that manner - now he'll be impossible to control!"

"That's rather the point, my love. You shouldn't be trying to control him. It would perhaps be better for the both of you if were to accept him." Mycroft trailed his fingers along Gregory's jaw as he glanced up into his face and back down briefly. "He is you, and I think that if you were to spend less energy on fighting him, and instead join with him, you would become all the stronger for it."

Gregory's face went utterly blank as his mouth slackened. "You truly have no idea what you are saying." He shuddered delicately. "I've been living with that horrible voice in my head since I was but a lad. The things he whispers to me in my weakest moments... The ideas that he takes delight in... They would turn your stomach and you would no doubt flee from me in terror."

Mycroft hardened his own expression as he looked upon his lover. "I rather think that the reverse would be true. I have not always been a nice man, Gregory. In my work, there has been the odd occasion during which I have had to take certain measures that you surely would not approve of. Although I do enjoy a modicum of power, and have many men available to do these things for me, I have always taken on the responsibility for the more heinous deeds myself, for I could never ask them to willingly take on that burden." He took Gregory's face in his hands and ran his thumbs over his cheekbones. "Believe me when I say that I greatly doubt the things that your beast has dreamt of would compare to the things that I have seen, or that I have done with these two hands." He looked up into Gregory's face, his large dark eyes softened with unfathomable emotion as he gazed down at him. "Believe me also when I say that I understand your beast perhaps a bit better than I would like. I do not have the luxury of blaming my own weaknesses on another creature - I have no choice but to accept that it is part of who I am."

"Oh, love..."

Mycroft smiled somewhat bleakly, his eyes dropping to Gregory's chest, skipping over and caressing the scars with his gaze alone. "I do not regret the choices that I have made, nor the actions that I have taken. They were all deemed necessary at the time, and much like the marks on your body, those choices have all led me to this point - they have led me here, to you."

Without another word, Mycroft wrapped his arms securely around Gregory's torso and tucked his forehead into his neck. His heart was hammering in his chest as he blinked rapidly, fighting back the embarrassing onset of tears. Never before had he spoken of his own darkness, not even to his dearest brother. Not that Sherlock needed to hear him say it to know all of his deepest secrets... No, he had simply known, as was his wont. Something in the heaviness of his tread upon the stairs would alert his younger brother that it had been an especially trying day and he would silently ghost into the sitting room to join Mycroft by the fire, offering his support the only way he knew how - by simply being there. When things had taken a particularly bad turn in the lower levels of the Head Office, Mycroft would return home and sequester himself in the bathroom for a good hour, scrubbing at his skin until it was nearly abraded raw. On these rare occasions he would emerge to find his brother waiting for him in his bedroom, his chess set waiting ready in the middle of his mattress. Sherlock would be sitting at the foot of the bed with his hands steepled under his nose, studying the silent board patiently. Mycroft would settle down against his pillows with a small sigh, and without even greeting his brother, would make the first move. Sherlock would make a show of taking his time with every decision he made, every single move, no matter how arbitrary, leaving Mycroft with the space he needed to anticipate and predict his patterns. There was something about actively engaging his mind in this strategic manner that would help to bring his body and brain back into alignment, and Sherlock would leave his room with an air of triumph about him even after losing the game to his elder brother quite soundly.

Sherlock had always accepted Mycroft for who he was, and gave him implicit support without words being necessary. Of course, words never had been an important part of the Holmes brothers' lexicon, not when they could communicate practically mind-to-mind, with only fleeting gestures and quick glances to guide them. Here with Gregory, however, words would need to be spoken to be understood, and Mycroft found himself hesitating. He did not dare to give voice to his secret fear that Gregory's disapproval of his own inner beast would all too easily translate to an overt rejection of him. But it seemed he did not need to speak his fears, because of course his Fated could somehow read it in him anyway.

"Mycroft, you know that I would never leave you over such a thing. I understand that such actions are sometimes necessary." Gregory swallowed uneasily. "And yes, I also understand how easy it is to take an unbecoming pleasure in those things, no matter how they may turn your stomach later." He began to run his fingers through Mycroft's hair and down his back in a constant, soothing motion. "I... I hear you, my love. I will admit that although I have long tried to divorce that aspect from my being, I do know that he is an intrinsic part of my essence, and there have been times that I have been all too eager to let him out to do his mischief. I did not want to believe that I could hold such darkness within me, but knowing that you fight a similar battle is making me reconsider a great many things." Mycroft held him a little closer as Gregory started to rock their bodies together gently. "We are Fated to one another, and if you could love and accept the whole of me, how could I not do the same for myself?"

Mycroft heaved out a shuddering breath. "I know that it will be difficult, having denied yourself for so long, but I would ask for you to try. What I told both of you is true. I love you, and I want you. _All_ of you, Gregory - and that includes him."

Gregory shook his head slightly, a lingering tension in the set of his shoulders. "I still fear what he may do to you if I allow him free rein."

"Whereas I am very much looking forward to it..." Mycroft chuckled quietly, noting with interest how Gregory's skin twitched under the caress of his breath. With only a minute hesitation, he stuck out his tongue and ran it over his lover's dusky nipple before blowing a gentle gust of air over it. He sucked in another breath as the flesh puckered and Gregory stiffened abruptly.

The silver-haired man hummed vaguely, his fingers tightening in Mycroft's hair. "Although there is one thing that he and I quite definitely agree on, my love."

"Oh?" Mycroft bent his head, delicately taking that delicious nub of flesh between his teeth. He tugged on it gently, insistently.

" _Ah!_ Y-yes."

"And what's that?"

Gregory ran his fingers under Mycroft's collar. "That these clothes of yours must come off. Now."

Mycroft laughed aloud as he immediately struggled to his feet. "Something we can all agree on, then." He began to shed his outer layer with a saucy grin. "Would you like to assist?"

Gregory leant back against the mattress, bracing himself on his hands as he tilted his head slightly. "No, I think I'd rather just watch, if you don't mind."

Mycroft laughed again, affecting a nonchalance that he certainly did not feel. From the abominable heating of his cheeks and the indulgent curve of Gregory's lips, he knew that his farce had not succeeded. Not that it mattered in the least, for although he started out feeling quite horribly self-conscious, by the time he had removed his waistcoat and started working on unbuttoning his braces, he had relaxed almost completely under Gregory's steady and clearly appreciative gaze. Enough so that he was able to retreat to the wardrobe and hang his clothing with much of his accustomed neatness, for that matter. Finally he was down to nothing but his union suit, and he fiddled idly with the top buttons as he wandered from the wardrobe back toward the bed, toward Gregory.

His Fated instantly reached out to pull him in close, his hands running around his waist and down, finding the buttons for the flap in the back with pinpoint accuracy. Mycroft quirked an eyebrow down at him as he rested his hands on those broad shoulders, his lips twisting with amusement. Gregory shrugged and deftly undid the fastenings, not hesitating even a moment as both hands reached in to caress the firm naked globes of Mycroft's backside. "Oh." Mycroft's head went back and he found himself blinking at the ceiling as his spine arched, subconsciously spreading his legs wider as Gregory's hands drifted lower and between. _"Oh."_ Those rough fingers on his most secret place, the skin so sensitive and hyper-aware that the sensation was nearly akin to pain - oh, oh _my_.

"Mm..." Gregory's nose was suddenly planted firmly in his groin, his hot breath gusting out over his engorged flesh through the last quite maddening layer of clothing. Mycroft began frantically unbuttoning, squirming against his lover's hold, desperate to let himself become utterly exposed before him. Gregory did not relinquish his grip until Mycroft physically pushed him away, only to writhe back against him once that layer had been shed, the soft material of his underclothes puddling at his feet. He pushed it away impatiently, bracing one knee on the mattress as Gregory stuck out his tongue and boldly ran it along his sternum.

" _Nghk._ My love...please..."

Gregory snarled quietly and swept him up, laying him down on his back on the mattress. He hovered over him briefly, his warm brown eyes glancing over his face before settling back on his heels in between Mycroft's spread thighs. A sudden wave of inexplicable shame descended over him, and he shyly covered his face with his hands as he struggled to contain himself. He gasped as he felt the soft pressure of Gregory's lips on his navel and warm, broad hands moving from his hips up the sides of his body. Mycroft allowed himself a tiny peek through his fingers, catching sight of Gregory's face as he looked down on him with awe. His body bowed almost subconsciously as one hand caressed him, coming to rest on the flat of his stomach just above his pubic bone. He granted himself a longer look, and something about seeing that rough, strong hand resting so casually on his pale belly stirred something deep and primal within him. Something so innocent, so sweet - how could something so simple be so unbearably erotic all at the same time?

"Oh, look at _you_..." Gregory's voice was but a low purr, and Mycroft untangled his fingers from his face as he lifted his head slightly. He saw only the same body that he had been living with all his life, long and spindly, pale and uninteresting. But the light of desire in his Gregory's face gave him pause, and he found himself stretching languidly under his obvious appreciation. "Such luscious, creamy skin you have, my love." He ran his hands from Mycroft's knees up along his thighs. "So soft and cool under my touch." His hands continued to move, up and across, until his prick was neatly framed in the triangle created from thumbs and fingers meeting at the vee of his groin. Gregory's tongue peeked out from between his teeth as Mycroft's straining member jumped under his gaze. "So eager for me... Oh, how did I get so lucky?" One thumb idly pressed down at the base of his cockstand as the other moved in small circles over his bollocks, and Mycroft's body arched into him, his legs coming up to wrap around his waist almost of their own free will. "Oh, sweet gods..."

"Gr-Gregory, please. I wish to see you, to feel you. I need the whole of you, oh please." Mycroft fought to untangle his fingers from where they had embedded themselves in the bedsheet, reaching out for the fastenings of Gregory's trousers. His lover laughed at him fondly as he cursed under his breath, his hands once again utterly useless as they fumbled ineffectively against the offending cloth.

"Release me, you impatient creature."

"Oh, but..."

"Shush, now." Gregory leant down and placed soft kisses on Mycroft's chest, nuzzling gently into the abundant ginger hair. "Just breathe, my darling. Nice and slow, that's it." Mycroft closed his eyes and did as he was bade, feeling every muscle in his body relaxing under Gregory's soothing voice, his gentle touch. His legs fell open and onto the mattress, but he resolutely kept his eyes closed as the weight and heat of his lover's body receded slightly. He took a moment to re-situate himself on the bed, placing his head on the pillows and spreading his whole body wide, arms and legs thrown open, all of him anticipating. It was only a few precious seconds before Gregory would join him again, he knew that, but it felt like ages. An eternity of waiting in the darkness, feeling nothing but the cool air of the room washing over his skin. And then - oh, then the little dip near his feet that told him that Gregory had climbed back into the bed with him, that he was even now moving toward him, crawling over his body and re-settling himself in the open space between his thighs once again, carefully lowering his weight down so that he could feel every inch of that wondrous torso pressed to him, could feel that lovely heat sinking into his chest, into his heart. "Oh, yes, there we are..."

Mycroft slowly opened his eyes and was struck nearly dumb by the beauty of his Fate's countenance, held so close to his. He once again wrapped his limbs around him, determined to never, ever let him go. He giggled quietly as Gregory smirked down at him, and wriggled against that hard body with delight. Mycroft frowned slightly and wriggled again. "Gregory - you - you're not..." Another wriggle as he felt his spirits begin to sink. _"Hrm."_

"Don't you dare think it has anything to do with you, my sweet. My entire being is utterly filled with thoughts of how beautiful you are, how wonderful you feel underneath me." He kissed Mycroft slowly, deeply. "It really does take a lot out of me when I have to fight to contain that bloody beast of mine. My spirit is willing, very very much so, but my flesh is weak, unfortunately. Everything will be in perfect working order after a good night's sleep, I promise you."

"Then perhaps we should just go to our slumber. I would much prefer to wait until you are able to fully participate, my love."

"Oh, aren't you the precious little liar. As if you'd be able to sleep with that thing nagging at you all night. No, no - you're aching, and I did promise to take care of you." Gregory ran his lips along Mycroft's jaw to his neck, sucking a gentle mark into the join of his shoulder. He smirked as the prostrate man gasped and pushed up into him subconsciously. "My mouth, I think. That way we'll both be satisfied, as I've been dying to take a taste you all evening."

"Oh, but Gregory..." The silver-haired man pushed himself up on his elbows and looked down at Mycroft with his head tilted just so. Mycroft bit his lip and blushed very becomingly, but his expression turned into one of enquiry as Gregory's gaze turned inward ever-so-slightly. "My love?"

Gregory huffed out an irritated breath. "He's berating me for wasting my energy on trying to control him earlier. He's telling me that I have no chance of satisfying you in my current state, and that I should just let him take first turn. I'm telling you, he's a right bastard."

"Don't you listen to him." Mycroft reached out to grasp Gregory's face in his hands before looking deep into his eyes. "You gave me your word, beastie. You said you'd leave us be for the night. Keep to your word, and I'll keep to mine, is that understood?" There was a brief moment of tension in Gregory's body atop his, and his eyes flashed utterly black for just a second. Mycroft shook his head in bemusement as he realised that the nuisance had essentially _winked_ at him.

And then his Gregory was grinning down at him disarmingly. "Beastie?"

"Oh, and you have a better name for him, I suppose?"

"Several, but none that are suitable for your delicate ears, my innocent dove." His grin sharpened at Mycroft's disbelieving huff of breath. "Oh, yes. Unsullied and pure." He bent down to take Mycroft's mouth in a deep, searching kiss, the motions of his lips and tongue further stoking the fires within the redhead's belly, making him writhe underneath him. "Nobody before me has had the privilege of kissing you in this manner, have they?"

Mycroft shook his head. "One or two bolder individuals have tried, but none managed to succeed as you have."

"Mm." Gregory shifted downward slightly. "None have seen you the way I'm seeing you now. Nearly wrecked, and I've barely even begun to work my mischief upon you."

"None. Only you, Gregory." Mycroft let out his breath on a shuddering sigh as his lover lightly tongued around one pale pink nipple before nibbling delicately. "Gods, only you..."

"Nobody will ever taste you the way I'm tasting you now. Every little freckle, every lustrous hair. It's all mine." He scooted even further down, running his tongue along the fine line of ginger hair running from Mycroft's navel to his groin. With a quiet moan he nosed around the crisp red curls surrounding his lover's cock, smirking as he stretched and purred underneath him. "No-one else will ever breathe you in as I am doing now. Your heat, the earthy scent of you filling my lungs, Mycroft. This is _mine_ and none other shall ever have the privilege."

Mycroft gasped again as Gregory slid his hands under his thighs, abruptly grasping his legs and pushing them up and out. "None. It's all for you, my love." He struggled up to support his torso on his elbows, but the only thing he could see beyond his own straining prick was the top of Gregory's silver head as he tucked his face down low, spreading his captive's thighs even wider. "But what are you - oh _gods_..." His body suddenly seized and Mycroft hit the mattress with a thump, his back immediately arching to push himself even further into Gregory's tongue, which had insinuated itself into a very naughty place indeed. He threw one arm over his eyes as his head thrashed from side to side. Wrong, wrong - this was all wrong, but oh sweet Venus no, it was so very, very right. Especially as that wicked and unbearably talented tongue began to move languidly, slicking hot wetness over and across and down and in - oh gods, in _side_ him just a tiny bit, just enough to make him pant and writhe and wordlessly demand more with tiny rolling motions of his hips.

Gregory hummed against and within him, chuckling breathily at Mycroft's loud mewl of utter need. He withdrew slightly and glanced up over his lover's quivering belly, licking his lips lasciviously. "Oh so pink and juicy you are, my love."

Mycroft thrashed again, uncovering his eyes and looking down into his lover's gorgeous face, his eyes wide and dark with desire, his cheeks glistening with spit. _"Nghk."_ He sucked in breath as one strong hand moved from the back of his thigh to his nethers, one broad digit circling his loosened entrance as Gregory watched his face quite intently. Mycroft tried to maintain the eye contact, but his body once again was beyond his control, his spine contorting, his legs opening wider as he cried out. "P-please, my love."

"Mm." The finger started to probe delicately, pushing in and then withdrawing in a steady rhythm. "Please what?" He pressed his nose firmly at the base of Mycroft's cock, hot breath washing over his bollocks, quickly followed by that utterly delicious tongue swiping down and over, his mouth opening wide enough to slip one in and start sucking on it gently.

Mycroft let out a desperate strangled noise. "Please anything! I don't know, Gregory - I simply do not _know_ what I want or what I need other than _you_. I am yours to do with as you will, just please please please relieve this agony!" He felt more than heard the low rumble of laughter as one thoroughly spit-slicked lump of flesh was released and the other caught up deftly in the same maddening trap, hot and wet, Gregory subjecting it to that same unbearable but gentle rolling pressure.

Gregory pulled away, allowing the second softly-furred lump to slide out of his mouth with an obscene slurp. Letting just the tip of his tongue peek out between his teeth, he ran it lightly up the underside of Mycroft's prick, sweeping up the considerable amount of pre-ejaculate that had trickled down the shaft when his attention had been so devilishly focused elsewhere. "Oh, so very tasty you are..." He hummed again, his eyes twinkling as he watched his poor lover continue to wriggle and writhe. "Well, you do seem to be in considerable torment, and since you asked _so_ nicely..."

Mycroft trembled uncontrollably as one rough hand was wrapped around his prick quite deliberately, gently sliding his foreskin up and down the engorged shaft. Gregory's eyes widened even further and his breath quickened at the sight of the darkly flushed head popping out of the circle of his fingers. Mycroft threw his head back and began to move his hips in a desperate bid for more friction, more speed, more anything. With a quiet snarl low in his chest, Gregory finally lowered his head and sucked the very tip of Mycroft's cock into his mouth, pressing down firmly on the slit with his tongue. Mycroft didn't even register the shout that burst from his mouth as his vision went a bit hazy and he barely had time to even realise what was happening before the finger that had been probing at his entrance oh-so-delicately was suddenly shoved in deep and Gregory let go of his cock with his hand only to take it all into his mouth in one fell swoop.

And then it was too, too much, oh far too many sensations, heat and wet and divine pressure and his blood rushing in his ears and his heart threatening to burst from his chest and his own body betraying him as his bottom bounced eagerly against the mattress, driving his prick into Gregory's mouth strong and sure even as he ground against his hand, his finger buried deep and his thumb rubbing under his bollocks and oh what was he doing that for and he felt the minute wriggle within him and it seemed like his lover was striving to reach for something, but what could it be and oh - oh ye _gods_ what was THAT?

Mycroft swiftly bit down on his own hand to contain the scream that was bubbling up in his throat as he wound the other into Gregory's hair, pulling hard and holding him fast as his entire body clamped down tight, his stomach muscles tensing so strongly that they began to ache almost immediately. He heard and felt his lover's deep hum of satisfaction as his prick jumped and released into his mouth, down his throat and the groan of relief that finally wound its way out of Mycroft's mouth from somewhere deep in his belly seemed to just go on and on and on until he utterly ran out of breath.

He sucked in another quickly, his chest heaving, and tugged on Gregory's hair insistently. "Come here. Here now, come here _come here_..."

Gregory grinned up at him and quickly moved to crawl up his body. "Yes, love, yes. No need to rush, I'm not going anywhere."

Mycroft shook his head in a desperate welter of emotion, fighting the urge to curl into a ball and cry and laugh and whoop for joy all at once, his mind absolutely spinning. He fisted both hands into lustrous silver hair and mashed their lips together hard, trying to convey all that he was feeling without seeming an utter fool. Gregory hummed and opened up for him, deftly slipping his tongue into his mouth and the taste, oh that taste - that was _him_ , and Mycroft's brain nearly imploded at the mere thought. He had marked him, his Fated had willingly taken him into his body and even at this moment he could feel their bond drawing them just a bit closer, their auras surrounding and swirling - dancing around one another and seeping into the other's consciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! You guys, you guyyyysss... Lookie!
> 
> [More art from the amazing profdrlachfinger!](http://www.profdrlachfinger.tumblr.com/post/120187593609/)
> 
> I just can't, I'm so THRILLED! Eee!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gregory and Mycroft's first night together winds down. After a bit more frolicking, of course.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stayed home sick from work today, and this is what happened. More smut ahoy, more fluffiness, Mycroft finding out that he likes to do a bit of ordering around in the bedroom as well as out of it... Y'know, a day in the life.
> 
> Would still love comments on my newest foray, and the next chapter should see a bit of Sherlock and perhaps of John as well. I have an idea of how I want it to go, of course, but then we all know how my muse operates. Like a bipolar cake addict, that's how. Anyway! It's late - or early, and umm... Yeah. 
> 
> Bugger illness. Just bugger it all.
> 
> *mwah!*

Mycroft once again caged Gregory in a loose tangle of limbs, rolling him over onto his back so he could sit astride him and slide down to tuck his face into his neck. He began to run his hands through his hair at the side of his head and along his broad shoulders, petting his lover in an attempt to calm his own roiling emotions. Gregory settled into the pillows with a quiet sigh, one lovely warm hand cupping Mycroft's arse tenderly but quite possessively. He gave it a little tap with his fingers and Mycroft wriggled against him wantonly. "I should probably wash these dirty hands of mine, love."

"You are never leaving this bed again." Mycroft frowned slightly as his lover's body jolted with unrestrained merriment, and he pulled back far enough to look him in the eye. "You think I am joking?" He sniffed imperiously as he cast a haughty glance down his nose. "I don't have a sense of humour, Gregory, and I absolutely never jest."

"You are a precious little fibber." Mycroft whined as Gregory swiftly rolled him over, pinning his hands above his head with ease. "I won't be a moment, and then you can lie on me as much as you like. You're such a light thing, it'll be no trouble for me at all."

Mycroft pushed up into him. "That's only because you're so strong, my love."

"Mm. I like that you like that about me." Gregory grinned as he tilted his head. "Your favourite beastie does too."

Mycroft rolled his eyes with a crooked smile. "Of course he does." He nodded his head off to the side, since his hands were still being held down firmly. "Get on with you."

Gregory rolled over him with a quiet but surprisingly alluring grunt, and Mycroft turned on his side to watch him as he strode over to the washstand. He knew his little gasp of surprise had not gone unnoticed by his lover, as he turned his head and winked at him saucily. "In a moment, my love." He carefully washed up and came back to bed, crawling over Mycroft's prone form to lie on his belly next to him. "All right, then - be my guest..."

Mycroft swiftly raised himself to his knees and straddled Gregory's bare backside, wriggling his own bottom delightfully against the firm flesh. Taking in a deep breath, he began to delicately trace over the various lines and swirls that decorated his lover's back with his fingertips, following the path halfway down his spine and over his shoulders to the back of his arms. "These are wards. How was this done - why?"

"Tattoos, my love. A Polynesian shaman consented to help me as payment for some good that I did for his family. Some are for protection, but most are for containment."

Mycroft sucked in another breath as his fingers continued to move, admittedly paying more attention to the muscle underlying the skin than the ink decorating it. "The basis for your cage, then."

"Mm." Gregory sighed and stretched underneath him, a distinct heaviness sinking into his voice. "Worked, too. For a while. Until he found a way out. But then, he always does."

Mycroft slithered down a bit, tucking his knees in around the tops of Gregory's thighs, neatly slotting his softened but still slightly plump member in between his lover's truly magnificent arse-cheeks. He settled his torso along his broad back, sighing quietly as Gregory shifted underneath him, crossing his arms under his cheek and turning his head to glance back at him awkwardly. "You feel wonderful, my love."

Gregory hummed again, his eyes drifting closed as a soft smile graced his lips. They opened again a moment later, his eyebrows raising at the sensation of gentle but sharp nips along the skin of his shoulders and the back of his neck. He shivered as Mycroft's teeth closed down on his earlobe and tugged hard. "What are you up to, you silly creature?"

"Just tasting you, my love. Surely you do not object?"

"I would never truly object to anything you wanted to do or with me, but I would sincerely hope that sleeping next to me is one of the options for tonight." 

Mycroft giggled, and ran his fingernails down Gregory's sides. "At some point, yes." He tightened his grip with his legs and ground down onto his lover's backside, groaning quietly as his prick began to harden again, slipping into that glorious crevice with ease. Gregory suddenly pushed himself up on his elbows and Mycroft swiftly ran his hands underneath to his chest, finding, pinching and then twisting his nipples viciously just as he bit down on his neck hard. 

_"Ah!"_  Mycroft tightened his grip on everything he had hold of as Gregory's body bucked underneath him. "Th-that bastard - he told you how to get to me, din't he? Just what did Mickey say to you?"

Mycroft hissed in his ear before abruptly biting down on it again, shaking his head slightly. "Never. Never _ever_  mention another man's name while you are in this room, in my bed. My name is the only one that will pass your lips, do you understand me?" 

Gregory's body stilled slightly as Mycroft sank his teeth into his shoulder. "Y-yes, my love. I - I understand."

He grunted quietly as Mycroft took in a breath from his nose, probing at the flesh between his teeth with his tongue as he increased the pressure of his jaws. He ran his fingernails through Gregory's abundant chest hair, making quite sure that he managed to pull a few out along the way. A bit of pain to push the edge of pleasure, he had told him. Be just a touch brutal; make sure that he knows you're staking your claim - be rough about it - your lad will roll right over for you. Yes, that had been the gist of Mickey's advice to him, but Mycroft shook his head slightly as he remembered the solemn gleam that had suddenly lit up the changeling's eyes.

_'Oh yes, 'e'll be aw too glad to do yer biddin' t'en, but take care how ye use t'is new power o' yers. Too rough or too often, and it'll be t'at beast o' 'is come out to play, and t'at one - well. T'at one likes givin' pain much more t'an takin' it, ye unnerstand?'_   

Oh, he understood all too well, especially as Gregory squirmed underneath him, his firmly muscled backside squeezing at him, coaxing his prick back to full attention as he began to rut against the mattress. He was panting quietly through clenched teeth, a tiny grunt pushing through his nose with every drag of his flesh against the bedding. Mycroft released his shoulder and ran his nose along his hairline, blowing a cool breath over his heated skin. With a gentle hum, he clenched down hard with his fingers, digging into the hair on his lover's chest and tugging at it viciously.

"Gregory..." He kept his voice as quiet and calm as he could manage, fighting the need to move his hips in a rhythm to match his Fated's. "I must insist that you stop that." Gregory whined low in his throat, his head dropping as he exposed the back of his neck to his lover. But he continued to move, pushing against Mycroft, sliding into the mattress. Mycroft hissed again before biting down on the nape of that lovely strong neck, growling as he shook his head viciously. Gregory gasped and froze instantly, his entire body trembling against Mycroft's hold. He released him and delicately licked at the red spot he had left behind, pressing soft kisses along his spine. "Much better."

"My-Mycroft, I..."

"Yes." Mycroft purred quietly as he let his fingers go slack, slowly trailing them down Gregory's sides as he sat up, once more grinding his hard cock into the perfect valley between his lover's cheeks. "I know, my love." With a little sigh of regret, he swung one leg over and dismounted, running his hand down the back of one glorious thigh. "Show yourself to me." Gregory took a moment to shake a little sense back into his brain, and slowly turned over, exposing himself to Mycroft's eager gaze.

He felt his own member twitch with interest as his lover's cock came into view, fully hard and oh-so-beautiful. Mycroft's confidence faltered slightly as he took the whole of him in. Mickey had of course alluded to Gregory's, well...his endowment in his crude attempt to rile Mycroft earlier in the evening, but he realised now that the changeling had actually been rather modest. Thick - yes, but like the rest of his Fated's form, so much more than that. Strong and hearty, standing proud and yet somehow humble. His mouth began to water as looked upon his lover's glory, but Mycroft knew that he wasn't quite ready for - that. No, he wouldn't be able to satisfy Gregory that way, not just yet. His hand, yes - that particular act he was well enough familiar with, and was secure enough in his own abilities to bring him to his finish in that manner. And even if he did use naught but his hand, that hardly precluded the possibility of having a little taste somewhere along the way, did it? He slowly licked his lips, steadfastly ignoring his lover's anguished moan as his prick jerked under his intense regard.

Mycroft finally had to force himself to look away, to let his gaze travel up Gregory's torso, the muscles in his stomach standing out in relief as his body was held tense, held ready and waiting for him. Oh, Mycroft certainly was a powerful man in his everyday life, and he had often made others wait on his decisions or actions, but never in all his days had it affected him as much as holding this one man still with nothing but his cool stare did. His eyes finally met Gregory's, and a swift flush of heat blazed through his veins, pooling low in his belly and high on his cheeks. Mycroft had expected his lover's face to hold much of the same carefree attitude that he had been displaying all night, that easy confidence and teasing grin. He had expected mirth and joy, not this needy, desperate creature. He felt his lips turning up in a sly and wicked grin as Gregory's mouth opened slightly, a thin whine issuing from his throat.

"Quiet yourself, Gregory. I understand your distress far too well, and I will help you alleviate it. I simply need a little more time to - appreciate - the view."

"P-please, my love...please."

Mycroft tilted his head slightly even as the low, rough voice caressed his spine and wrapped invisible fingers around his prick. "What is it that you require?"

"Touch me, please. Anywhere, I don't care, I just need to feel those lovely cool fingers on me. My Fated, my love - claim me. Make me yours."

Mycroft shivered despite his best efforts to hold his body still, quite unable to resist the pull of Gregory's words. He contemplated him for just a moment more, his aura pulsing around him in time to the beat of his heart, reaching out for his lover in short, rolling waves of heat. The smell of exotic spice once again flooded his senses, and he felt his hand tremble as he lifted it, carefully transferring it from one of his own thighs to Gregory's, squeezing gently as he ran it up the expanse of muscle. It twitched wildly under his touch, and Mycroft found himself swiftly becoming mesmerised by all of the small signals in his lover's body that spoke to him clearly of his desire, his need. His need for him, and him alone.

The rosy flush rising to the surface of his skin, the fine sheen of sweat that made that beautiful body glisten in the dim light, his tortured breathing and pupils blown wide, all tiny indicators that combined into one overwhelmingly powerful signal that sent a heady rush of power to Mycroft's brain. Gregory whined again as Mycroft slowly dragged his palm up his torso, neatly avoiding the one piece of anatomy that was absolutely demanding his undivided attention. He allowed a soft sigh pass through his lips as he followed the curves and valleys of his lover's body, letting his fingers dance around the edge of one dusky nipple. He tilted his head and watched with sincere interest as the flesh pebbled under his touch, tightening and drawing up into a tidy little nub that just called out for his mouth. Mycroft smirked and obliged, bending down to press a soft open-mouthed kiss to it, probing gently as Gregory cursed and his body arched up into him. He slipped the very tip of his tongue from between his lips and traced a lazy circle, following the path that his fingers had made only moments earlier.

Gregory cursed again, his hands reaching out to touch gently, one on the back of Mycroft's thigh, the other on the top of his head. He turned his face slightly and said, "Gregory," in a tone that brooked absolutely no nonsense. He hadn't said anything about not touching him, of course, but Gregory understood instantly as his eyes fluttered and his hands dug into the bedclothes instead, holding tight. "Good, yes - that's very good." 

" _Ohh_... W-want to make you h-happy, my love..."

Mycroft groaned against the flesh that was in his mouth, a swift rush of blood to his nethers making his head swim alarmingly. He hovered over his lover with one hand planted on the mattress, the other tracing the lines of his face, trailing his thumbnail down in between his brows and along the ridge of his nose. He circled Gregory's lips, watching with a soft but heated smile as his tongue darted out to lick at it delicately. With a quiet growl, Mycroft insinuated his thumb into that wet heat, his own eyes fluttering as Gregory's mouth obediently dropped open, his lips closing around the digit and suckling languorously, the tip of his tongue flickering around the pad and playing with the edge of his nail.

"Oh, Gregory... You're going to make me the happiest man alive."

Gregory whimpered quietly and tilted his chin in mute invitation, and Mycroft simply could not resist bending down to take that lovely mouth with his, pressing him hard into the pillows as he extracted his hand and laid it lightly over his lover's throat. He dimly registered the low moan vibrating through the broad chest pressed up against his, the manner in which Gregory seemed to simply melt into the mattress underneath him. Then he started moving his hand downward, relishing in the way the skin under his hands trembled at every gentle touch, the way Gregory's body subconsciously pressed up into him eagerly.

Mycroft read the absolute need in his Fated's form in nothing more than the undulations of his body, the soft gusts of breath that were pushed out of his nose as they kissed heatedly, the soft whimpers and sighs that followed. Oh, he knew how desperate his Gregory was, and he wanted to give him the release that he was seeking, he truly did, but he wasn't finished with his explorations quite yet. And so he trailed his hand lower, and lower still, sliding it down sweat-slicked skin until it dipped between and underneath, gently cradling Gregory's bollocks in his palm as his fingers carefully stroked the hot flesh just behind.

Gregory cried out and eagerly spread his legs, rolling his hips as his body arched. He moaned as Mycroft pushed himself back onto his knees, letting his eyes graze over his lover's torso and lower, fixating on the stiff member that was leaking copiously, gently bouncing against Gregory's lower belly as his hips moved. Mycroft startled suddenly as Gregory reached up to run his fingers over his mouth, licking his own lips as their eyes met.

Mycroft did not chide him for his touch, not this time, but he did shake his head slightly. "Gregory, I cannot. Not yet. I..."

Gregory also shook his head, but with a gentle smile. "I know, my love. I know. Your hand, please. Please, let me feel those lovely cool fingers of yours wrap around me. Touch me, stroke me. Please, Mycroft." The smile went a little lopsided as his eyes twinkled merrily. "Won't take long, I'm afraid."

Mycroft found himself chuckling, and raised his hand to capture his lover's fingers, slipping them into his mouth briefly. "Yes, my love. Just..." He hesitated, and was embarrassed to feel himself blushing furiously. "Just a little taste first, if you don't mind."

Gregory's only response was a loud groan as his head was thrown back, his entire body tensing into one astonishingly beautiful mass of muscle. Mycroft blinked rapidly at the sight before him, nearly overcome with the urge to rut and rub against that taut length of thigh until he spent himself yet again. He swiftly slid down in the bed and positioned himself in between Gregory's spread legs, bending down to mouth lightly at the head of his lover's prick. He had anticipated the involuntary spasm, the subconscious jerk of Gregory's hips, so he pulled back almost as soon as his lips had touched the silky smooth skin. 

After Gregory's body had relaxed back into the mattress, his hands once again clutching hard at the sheets, Mycroft slowly and deliberately wrapped his fingers around that impressive girth, blinking in astonishment as they barely made it all the way around. Mycroft knew very well that his fingers were much longer than the average, and even having undeniable proof of Gregory's prowess in his hand, he still found it somewhat hard to believe. His mouth once again began to water, and he felt a distinct twitch in his backside as his mind was filled with any number of obscene scenarios. Intellectually, he understood the kinds of acts that two men would typically get up to with one another, but he had never before even countenanced the idea that he might be one of the men in question. 

Mycroft had never even really fantasised when it came to taking care of his body's urges. He had simply focused on the physical sensations, on what felt good, and had been able to satisfy himself in that manner. But now, oh now - he could all too easily picture it all, him taking Gregory, sliding into his glorious heat, his lover taking him in turn, feeling this wonderful instrument buried deep inside him, oh, oh dear. He let his hand begin to work its own brand of magic as he closed his eyes, attempting to control his wildly beating heart even as the sounds of Gregory's pleasure penetrated his consciousness and shattered his concentration.

He dug the fingers of his free hand into Gregory's inner thigh, scraping his nails along the flesh with a quiet snarl. There was a harsh gasp of breath followed by a low moan, and Mycroft did it again, just to hear those glorious noises. Then he firmly placed that hand on Gregory's hip, pressing down hard. "Gregory." The silver-haired man jerked and deliberately held himself still, the muscles in his belly jumping wildly under the skin. "Good. I want you to hold yourself still for me." Mycroft smirked and then gentled his expression as those dark eyes were turned on him in utter anguish. "I know. But I need a moment, and you have to be still. Do you understand?"

Gregory bit his lip and nodded, once again settling himself into the pillows and forcing himself to breathe steadily as he stared up at the ceiling. Mycroft hummed his approval and once again lowered his head, watching up close as he ran his thumb up the underside of his lover's cock, squeezing out a fresh dribble of pre-ejaculate. He dabbled his fingertips in it gently, rubbing the pads together as he explored the texture. Mycroft put his fingers to his mouth, but spreading it around had distributed the taste, so he didn't catalogue much beyond an extra bit of saltiness that simply enhanced the flavour of his own skin. With a tiny glance to ensure that Gregory was still concentrating on maintaining his breath, Mycroft braced his arm against his lower belly and placed the flat of his tongue to the slit. 

Gregory cursed quietly and tensed underneath him, but he did not allow his hips to thrust, and Mycroft rewarded him for this with a long, languid lick from base to tip. The god-like body quivered and shuddered, Gregory's toes curling and digging into the backs of Mycroft's legs where they had settled. He once again settled the flat of his tongue against the slit and employed his fingers to give his lover's prick a nice hard squeeze, this time capturing the liquid in his mouth. Mycroft swirled it around delicately, his head tilted as he explored the taste and texture as one might a fine wine. He once again looked up as he swallowed, this time catching Gregory's agonised gaze, his teeth buried in his bottom lip, his face going completely red as he held his breath. 

Mycroft smiled at him slowly, and once again wrapped his fingers nice and tight around his throbbing member, and nodded curtly. Gregory's air left him in a rush, and he hastily took in another as he started to move his hips, thrusting up into Mycroft's grip with a hurried intensity. Oh, no, not long at all, especially as the red-haired man began to rub small circles with his thumb just under the head with every stroke, reaching out to scrape his nails down Gregory's torso and along his legs, bringing that hand under to tug hard at his bollocks as they began to draw up. 

"My- _Mycroft_ , oh gods..."

Mycroft glanced at his Fated's face, full of wonder and lust and oh yes, love and devotion, and he felt his heart skip in his chest. He lowered himself slightly, deliberately sliding his gaze from the beauty of Gregory's face down to the magnificence of his cock, and breathed out a quiet sigh over his heated flesh. "Yes, my love. For me, Gregory. Come for me." 

He ducked down and closed his lips over just the head of that glorious cock, keeping his hand firmly in place to prevent Gregory from driving in too deep as his pleasure overcame him. One deliberate twist of the wrist, one gentle lick and a hard suck, and his Fated let go with everything that he had in him, pouring it all into Mycroft's mouth in three sharp pulses with a loud cry. He loosened the ring of his lips slightly, letting some of his lover's essence drip from his mouth and over his hand, as it was far too much for him to take in all at once. 

Mycroft did run his tongue over the lovely appendage that was even now softening in his grip, gathering some of Gregory's semen and swallowing it down eagerly. He almost laughed at himself at the sense of satisfaction he felt as it slid down his throat, settling into his stomach like a small draught of quality brandy. He blinked at nothing in particular as a gentle warmth spread from his belly to his limbs, and started slightly as he heard Gregory's quiet chuckle. 

"Yours did the same to me, love. Never felt so toasty inside before." He reached out to run his fingers through Mycroft's hair. "Must have something to do with the bond."

"You're in me, Gregory."

"And you in me, my love."

Mycroft blinked again, fighting to process his new reality. "We - we're bonded now."

Gregory laughed quietly. "Husbands." He tugged gently. "Come." Mycroft gratefully laid himself down at Gregory's side, hardly breathing as he took his soiled hand and began to clean it with long swipes of his tongue. He nudged his hip into Mycroft's groin, rubbing up against the nuisance that had popped up while he was attending to his lover. "What do you want, Mycroft? I'll take care of you in any way that you desire."

Mycroft blinked again, his brain blissfully fuzzy even as his arousal tugged sharply at the edges of his senses. But it certainly wasn't a desperate need, and he couldn't help but notice that Gregory's eyes were fighting to stay open. Mycroft was sure that even if his lover gave it a valiant attempt, he surely would not be able to see him satisfied a second time this night. "I desire sleep, Gregory. This has already been a night beyond my wildest imaginations, and I must admit that I am rather fatigued."

Gregory turned an incredibly grateful look on him, and Mycroft felt his heart give another little jump at the look in those warm brown eyes. "Big night for you, hm? For both of us, really. Need a moment to think on it all, yeah?"

"Mm." Mycroft slipped from underneath the shelter of Gregory's arm, once again returning to the washstand and to water that had gone quite chilly. He wrung out the cloth as best he could before returning to his lover's side, giving him a light swipe on the thigh to prepare him for the unpleasant sensation. Gregory gave him a little nod even as he tensed slightly, a tiny yelp escaping from between clenched teeth as Mycroft wiped him down carefully. Mycroft giggled at him as he squirmed, and Gregory grinned back before sticking out his tongue in an unbearably endearing display of childishness.

When Mycroft returned from his own thorough cleaning, Gregory was already snoring gently, one arm thrown out in invitation. He bit his lip as he looked down on him, eventually settling on pulling the blankets up over him before pulling his favourite nightshirt out of the bureau. He hadn't been lying when he confessed his fatigue, but Mycroft still had that report that he needed to write up for his daily meeting with Her Majesty. Two reports now, actually. Normally he would have retired to his study for this, but he settled down at his small secrétaire instead. His penmanship would no doubt be less than desirable, but once Her Majesty learned of the events of the night, She would perhaps not be entirely disapproving.

It took Mycroft less than an hour to prepare both reports and he billowed around the room in his over-large flannel nightshirt for a moment, gathering Gregory's shed clothing and essentially tidying up a bit to help to calm his mind. He held up his lover's shirt for inspection before bringing it over to the washstand and attempting to rinse out the dried blood. He was very careful not to tear the material any more than it was already damaged, biting his lip as he debated. Not that he would know what to do with a needle and thread if he could even find any... Mrs. Hudson must keep that sort of thing in her room, surely. After only a moment's hesitation, Mycroft stole out of his room and down the stairs, needing no light to guide his way. He left the garment folded by her door as a mute request. It wouldn't be the first time that she would step in as a mother figure for the wayward Holmes brothers, nor the last. 

Finally content with his evening's (and early morning's) labours, Mycroft tiptoed back upstairs and into his room, turning the one lamp still going down into darkness before crawling into bed at his spouse's side. Gregory hummed in his sleep, wrapping himself around Mycroft's body as though he had belonged there all his life. Mycroft felt a quiet jolt as it all clicked into place, and as he closed his eyes and allowed himself to drift, he felt his Fated's solid presence at his back, and for once, his mind and body were utterly at peace.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gregory meets the other inhabitants of 221B Baker Street...

As Mycroft blinked himself awake, he became aware of a rather odd feeling, a sort of hot, prickling sensation on his midriff. He was flat on his back in the middle of the mattress, and quite unlike any other day of his life, there was another body tucked up in the bed with him. He smiled broadly as he recalled the events of the prior evening, as he became aware that the strange sensation was that of Gregory's head on his stomach, his spouse having apparently wormed his way underneath his nightshirt at some point in the night. He obviously preferred the feel of his bare skin over that of cloth and had done what he could to facilitate his desires, even deep in his sleep.

For he was still quite unconscious, snoring gently into Mycroft's navel as his spiky hair scratched at his sternum. Mycroft giggled quietly up at the ceiling as his body stretched underneath his lover, as it began to react to hot breath washing over certain areas. He felt his aura beginning to wake as well, cool tendrils reaching out to twine around Gregory's form as his spouse’s natural heat responded in gentle waves, each cradling and caressing the other. There was a low hum from underneath his garment, a deep breath that signalled Gregory's burgeoning wakefulness, and Mycroft was suddenly all-too-aware of his own arousal as his prick sprang to instant attention.

The low, rumbling laugh that drifted out from under the bedclothes made him gasp, and he was about to curl in on himself in embarrassment, but then a hand started sliding over his thigh, heading upward, and there was nothing for it but to still himself, to take in a solid breath of his own in anticipation.

But of course that was when Mrs. Hudson struck, rapping firmly on his bedroom door and calling out with her traditional shrill greeting. "Oo-ooh!" Gregory sat bolt upright as the door opened unceremoniously, making Mycroft's over-large nightshirt take on the appearance of a corporal spectre. He froze for a long agonising moment, quite unable to decide whether to laugh hysterically, shriek and hide himself, or attempt to behave as though nothing was amiss.

The decision was taken from him as Gregory sputtered underneath his fabric prison, struggling to free himself. Mycroft let out a quiet shout as he attempted to maintain his dignity, resulting in the two men pulling and tugging at the soft flannel material in opposing directions. Gregory turned an adorably ruffled appearance on his lover as he finally came up for air, and Mycroft couldn't help but dissolve into hearty giggles, only calming himself when Mrs. Hudson cleared her throat pointedly.

She tried her best to look stern as she stood in the doorway bearing his customary morning repast on a tray, but as Gregory yelped quietly and pulled the bedclothes up to his chin, her face broke out into a wild grin. "Mycroft Holmes, you devil. Just what mischief have you been up to, then?"

Mycroft gasped with indignation as he tugged his nightshirt back down, pleased to note that she had Gregory's shirt tucked over her arm, no doubt fully repaired. "Mrs. Hudson, I assure you..."

"Wait." She looked to the side and noted that the table that she usually laid her burden down on was rather inconveniently covered with weapons and shook her head slightly. She went to the small bench at the foot of the bed instead, and set down the tray before leaning over the bed. Greg blinked up at her as she cupped one small, frail hand around his cheek, looking deep into his eyes. Then she did the same with Mycroft, using her other hand. There was a small tremor in her form before she dropped her hands and looked to her charge in astonishment. "Well, I'll be damned. Fated. You're already bonded, too." She smirked at Greg and winked. "You work fast, young man." Gregory blushed, but rather than try to deny anything, he simply smiled bashfully.

Mycroft wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled him in closer, pressing a kiss to his temple. "Believe me, Mrs. Hudson, no-one could possibly be as surprised as I."

There was a low, rumbling baritone chuckle at the door, and this time it wasn't just Gregory striving to dive underneath the bedclothes as yet another person intruded in their space. "Unless it is I, of course." Bright quicksilver eyes scrutinised the man in his brother's bed, widening slightly. "Oh, well done, brother mine. Caught yourself a very fine specimen, didn't you?"

Greg sputtered as Mycroft scoffed. "Sherlock, you know very well that I was not seeking such a thing. We came upon each other quite by accident."

"As most Fated pairs do." He waved a hand at Greg's narrowed eyes. "Nothing else could have induced the Iceman to bring another into his bed. I don't need to examine you to know exactly what you are to each other. Indeed, I find it rather fascinating. Of the two of us, I would have thought that I would have been the more vulnerable." He turned a wry smile on his elder brother. "I do have more of a tendency to run off without fully considering the consequences of my actions. You do not." His head tilted as his regard sharpened. "How did it feel to have your choice taken away from you like that?"

Mycroft took in a harsh breath as Gregory stiffened beside him. Before he could open his mouth to let fly a devastating remark, he felt his lover’s warm hand squeeze his thigh gently. Gregory’s deep brown eyes were fixed on his little brother’s face, and although there was a bit of indignation in his expression, it was mostly conciliatory.

“I’ll not steal your brother away from you, lad. You can rest easy on that score, at the very least.”

Sherlock blinked at him in astonishment, and strove to hide his own relief, but he had never been as good as concealing his inner turmoil as Mycroft was. The younger Holmes harrumphed and straightened abruptly, looking over the intruder to his brother’s life once more. His eyes widened as Mrs. Hudson handed Greg a cup of tea on a saucer, and he was forced to drop the bedclothes that were covering him or else get drenched.

“Oh! Is that a - a burn?”

Mycroft’s cheeks blazed as Greg snorted delicately. “So you’re both inquisitive little buggers, then. Yes, lad. It’s a burn.”

“Was it a sprite?”

Greg turned upraised brows on his new spouse and found him looking at him a bit sheepishly over the rim of his own teacup. “Sherlock has - assisted - me in my work from time to time. Both he and Mrs. Hudson are apprised of my manner of employ, so do not feel that you need to maintain too much secrecy within these walls.” He admonished him with a quirk of his lips. “Not _too_ much, mind you.”

Greg let out a quiet breath and turned back to blue-green eyes that were alight with excitement and stark curiosity as they travelled over his torso. “Fire drake.” He swiftly held out a hand as the younger Holmes sucked in a hasty breath. “And perhaps any further enquiries can be tabled until we all find ourselves in a situation that isn't quite as revealing as the one we’re in now?” He dropped a saucy wink at Mrs. Hudson, who was hovering near the doorway after having replenished the pitcher on the washstand as well as some clean flannels. She blushed rosily and flapped her hands at them before retreating. Greg let out a sigh of relief and turned his attention back on Sherlock, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. “And after all, your brother and I _are_ newly bonded. We may find ourselves to be rather overcome with certain urges before too long.”

Sherlock instantly pulled a face and shook his head violently as if to rid himself of an unwanted vision. “As well I know, if the caterwauling that I heard last night is to be any indicator of future events.” He turned to his brother, smirking at his red cheeks. “I would suggest some kind of silencing ward, brother dear. I do believe that even Mrs. Hudson was affected, even in her dank little corner of the house.”

“Oh sweet Minerva.”

“Indeed.” His smirk was tempered slightly as he looked uncertainly between the two men. “I know that my tone earlier was meant to to rile, but I truly would like to know how you feel about this unexpected development. As we had discussed many times before, the very idea seemed to fill you with revulsion, brother mine.”

Mycroft slipped carefully from the bed after setting his tea aside, reaching out to clasp his brother’s arm gently. “Sherlock. I am truly touched that you seem to be concerned for me, but rest assured that it is unlike anything that you and I had imagined during our discussions long into the night. Gregory is… He is everything that I was waiting for, and he has filled a hole in my soul that I did not even know existed. You may be correct - I had very little choice in the matter, but he fits into me in a way that is impossible to describe. I feel no regret, no sense of compulsion. I am at - peace.”

“For once in your life.”

Mycroft smiled a little sadly. “Last night may have been the first full restful sleep I have had since our parents were taken from us.”

“No doubt that was due to the inordinate amount of exertion beforehand. You are quite unused to that level of physical exercise.” Mycroft’s cheeks were once again blazing, but he couldn't help but smile at his brother’s mischievous tone.

“You may be quite right, Sherlock.”

“Ooh! Scones! Wait... Love, why do you have afternoon tea all laid out for breakfast?" The Holmes brothers looked to the bed, where Gregory was bent over inspecting the contents of the tea-tray that Mrs. Hudson had left behind.

Sherlock snorted as Mycroft turned an altogether different shade of pink. "I'm afraid that Mrs. Hudson set a precedent for indulging my sweet-tooth first thing in the morning at a very young age, and I never quite got over the habit." Both brother and spouse snickered at him quietly, and he cleared his throat before sticking his nose ever-so-slightly in the air. "It makes her happy."

Sherlock rolled his eyes at his brother's weak attempt to deflect the blame onto their housekeeper. "She doesn't exactly run the most traditional of households, although I'm sure she would be more than happy to fry up an egg or two if you require it. In fact, she seems inordinately pleased any time either one of us actually sits down at the table for a full meal."

Greg shook his head slightly. “I usually make do with porridge, but these beauties will suit me just fine." He gasped quietly. "Oh, and with butter and fresh cream, too. Oh gods, I'm in paradise!” He turned a blinding grin on his spouse and spouse’s little brother, winking as he lifted the tray to place on the bed.

Sherlock cleared his throat as the bedclothes fell away slightly, revealing a hefty chunk of Gregory’s flank and solid thigh. “Very well done indeed, my unfairly lucky older sibling.” Mycroft blushed once more, but he knew there was a bit of smug superiority in his eyes that he did not bother to even try to hide. He shivered with delight as a number of obscene noises wafted through the room, Gregory voicing his stark approval of Mrs. Hudson’s baking in the most basic way he could. “Oh, gods - he’s an animal, Mycroft. How on earth are you going to live with something like that for the rest of your monastic, buttoned-up, prudish life?”

“Very, very happily, Sherlock. I think I may begin by giving him something else to sup upon.” He grinned maliciously as his little brother shuddered, both of them looking to the bed and to the base creature perched upon it, absentmindedly licking cream from his fingertips with a look of utter bliss on his face. “ _Ngh_ , gods…” Mycroft began to turn, already tuning out anything and anyone that wasn't his Gregory, who was currently winking saucily at him with one finger stuck deep in his mouth. His irritating little brother reached out and grabbed hold of his nightshirt, pulling him up short. “Sherlock, I swear to Diana if you do not release me at _once_ I will in no way be responsible for my actions.”

“Wait. Listen.” Sherlock pulled his reluctant sibling to his bedroom door, and leant out into the hallway. There was a bit of commotion downstairs, Mrs. Hudson’s high-pitched voice overriding those of a lower pitch. “We seem to have visitors.”

“Ah. Most likely it’s just Gregory’s things. If you would direct the men up here, I would be most grateful.”

“My - what? Mycroft, what have you done?” Sherlock took in an excited breath as Gregory’s eyes started to darken, as his voice took on that harsh inflection. He growled quietly and shook his head, once again pulling the bedclothes up as the voices ascended the staircase, getting steadily louder.

Mycroft began to shove his brother out of the room just before two young men came bustling in, a large trunk being held between them. They placed it as Mycroft directed them, and he pulled Mrs. Hudson aside briefly, instructing her on how much to give them on the way out. And of course his inquisitive little brother took full advantage of his distraction, easily slipping back into his room and to the side of the bed, where Gregory was obviously attempting to rein in his beast, his eyes closed firmly as he breathed in and out steadily.

After the workmen and Mrs. Hudson had retreated, Mycroft hurriedly rushed to take his little brother by the arm, physically pulling him from the room. Sherlock went easily, his eyes and mouth wide. “Not wise, brother mine.” He shook his head firmly as a number of questions lit up Sherlock’s face. “No, not now, and not without Gregory’s permission. I’m sure that he’d be happy to answer any queries you have, but I fear that your curiosity would not be taken well just at this moment.” Mycroft bit his lip as he tangled his fingers together, casting a worried glance over his shoulder. “I have angered him, made some sort of error, although I cannot imagine what it might be.”

Sherlock scoffed. “Gods, you’re going to be utterly hopeless at this.” He gestured at the large trunk sitting innocuously up against the bureau. “You didn’t ask, did you? Just assumed, and then went ahead and made arrangements, because that’s what you do. Arrange everyone’s lives around you to suit your own purposes.”

“Oh.” Mycroft felt the blood drain from his face and abruptly reached out an arm to support himself against the door-frame. “Oh, I must apologise immediately…”

“Wait! Brother, I don’t, I mean I can’t…” Mycroft tilted his head at the sudden look of distress on Sherlock’s face, his voice dropping to a mere whisper. “I don’t want to leave you with him like that. I mean - what manner of creature is he?”

Mycroft simply blinked, his indignation at Sherlock’s assumptions being tempered by his little brother’s obvious concern. “Do not fret yourself, little one. We have an understanding.”

“What understanding could you possibly have with a monster?”

Mycroft hissed as he further pushed him from the room, taking stark pleasure in the look of abject terror that crossed his brother’s face. “Never. Never say those words again. He is a man, and my husband besides. Gregory would never hurt me, in any form that he should choose to take.” He reached out to shake Sherlock slightly. “There is a reason that we were Fated to one another. Do not forget that a darkness also lives within me. Do you think me a monster, brother mine?”

Sherlock shook his curls definitively. “No, of course not.”

“Then _never_ let me hear you say that word again.”

“Mycroft…”

“Go. Please. I have amends to make.”

“So much has changed in such a short time.” Sherlock turned beseeching eyes on him, and something inside Mycroft melted just a bit. “I cannot quite think - I just don’t know what to do, and gods, it - it hurts, but why - brother…”

Mycroft let out a quiet sob and pulled his little brother close, smiling as he tucked his face into his neck and took hold of the back of his nightshirt, simply holding onto him. “I know, little one, I know. Believe me, my mind is in just as much turmoil as yours is, as well as my body. We will discuss this at length a bit later, and I promise you to answer as many of your questions as I am able, and I know that Gregory will also. Things are changing, but only for the better. You have a new brother now…”

Sherlock let out a muffled chuckle and surreptitiously wiped his leaky face on his brother’s nightshirt before releasing him and stepping away. “I’m not so sure that’s a tick in the positive column, brother mine.”

“It will be, once you know him, once you understand.” Mycroft nodded toward the staircase. “Please, brother. Go downstairs and eat something, at the very least.”

With another lingering glance at the man in his brother’s bed, and a reassuring nod from his brother himself, Sherlock slipped down the stairs. Mycroft straightened his shoulders and stepped back into his bedroom, making sure to turn the key in the lock this time. Gregory had settled back into the pillows, his hands folded over his stomach as he continued to take in steady, solid breaths. Mycroft lifted the tea-tray from the foot of the bed, noting with a small pang of disappointment that the plate that had held the scones had naught but a few minuscule crumbs remaining. Clearly, it would not do well to leave his new spouse alone with any manner of nourishment that he hoped to take himself.

His bit his lip again as he found a place to lay his burden, turning back to the bed to find that Gregory had not moved one inch. Indeed, his face was so composed and breathing so steady that Mycroft wondered if he had not somehow slipped back into slumber, even amongst all the noise and fuss. He carefully drew the bedclothes back before crawling onto the mattress and over his lover’s prone form. Straddling his waist, Mycroft gently lowered his body until his head was resting in the crook of Gregory’s neck, closing his eyes and taking in a hesitant breath.

It shouldn’t have been so difficult for him to say, after all, he knew that he had been in the wrong. But Gregory was so still, so silent, that surely he must be slumbering, and Mycroft couldn’t disturb him with something as paltry as an apology, could he? No, sleep was far more important and surely he knew that Mycroft hadn’t meant any harm, not truly.

There was a deep rumbling sigh and a seismic shifting underneath him, and Mycroft sat up abruptly, looking into eyes that were dark, yes, but not black, and he felt his heartbeat flutter in his chest in relief. But then his heart stuttered again, for although it was merely Gregory and not his beast, his face was somewhat cold, his jaw set in displeasure.

“It seems that perhaps I have bonded myself to the wrong Holmes.” Mycroft simply stared at him, aghast. “Your little brother is clearly the far more perceptive of the two. And even though you know what you need to do, you still hesitate.”

“I thought you were asleep!” Gregory’s disappointed sigh cut him to the quick, and Mycroft felt his lip quivering almost uncontrollably. He snapped his teeth down on it viciously before burying his face in his lover’s chest. “I am so sorry! Truly, I beg your forgiveness with everything in me. I’m a fool, I’m a bully and I was wrong and I am so so sorry…”

His body shuddered as Gregory’s arms came up to hold him tight, nearly squeezing all of the breath out of him. His grip shifted slightly, and he pushed Mycroft into sitting once more, smiling gently up at his damp face. “Care to try that again so that I can actually hear you?”

Mycroft grinned a little sheepishly, running his fingers through his lover’s black and silver chest hair. “I am sorry, my love.”

“What did you do wrong?”

Mycroft blinked rapidly. “Well, it’s just as Sherlock said. I didn’t ask, I merely assumed.” He plucked at the hair under his fingers nervously. “I know that you have a life of your own, that your work is as important to you as mine is to me. No doubt it will be much easier for you to conduct that business from your accustomed place. We’ll just have to bring your trunk back, that’s all.”

“No, love.” Gregory shifted slightly, running his hands underneath the vast flannel nightshirt, up over and across Mycroft’s thighs. “Of course I want to live here with you. We’re bonded - husbands. It’s not like you could move into the barracks with me, after all.” Mycroft smiled shakily, fighting back the reaction that his lover’s hands were generating in his nether regions. “ _Mm_. No, it’s simply that you did it without discussing it with me first, without giving me that agency. I imagine that you asked Captain Dobson to do the honours?” He grimaced at Mycroft’s faint nod. “See, that’s a problem. Most like, he simply had everything tossed into that trunk and then dragged it out without comment. I have a team, love. Folks that depend on me. Heavens only knows what they’re thinking right now. Did I desert them, the Company? Did something come up out of the night and snatch me away? Am I dead? They don’t know, and Dobson sure as hell won’t tell them anything. He’ll insist that he’s protecting your privacy, but the truth is that he likes having knowledge that others don’t, and he very much likes to lord that knowledge over the people under his command.”

Mycroft frowned down at his lover with consternation even as he squirmed atop him. “How did such a man make rank?”

Gregory shrugged as his touch began to wander higher and around, cupping Mycroft’s arse in both hands and squeezing firmly. “It was his time, that’s all.” He squeezed harder, eliciting a quiet grunt, shaking his head as Mycroft started to speak. “No, love. That’s not my path, never has been. I need to be out on the streets, not tucked away behind some faceless desk.” He grinned up at his red-haired lover with a little wicked laugh. “There are better men available for that sort of thing, obviously.”

Mycroft blushed even as he arched his spine, subtly grinding down into the hard length that was pressing up against him. “Ob - ngh, _gods_ \- obviously, yes. Oh, yes…”

“Heh. Now. Before we take this any further, before we get ourselves together and go out to face the day, we need to come to an understanding. I accept your apology for taking things into your very capable hands, but from now on, if there is a decision that affects both of us in any way, it will be discussed first. Are we agreed?”

“ _Nghk_ \- yes, yes… Gregory, please!”

“Here - just…” Gregory grunted underneath him, pushing Mycroft down slightly as he shifted, pulling his hard member out and aligning it with his lover’s, grasping them both in his hot grip. “Spit, love. Get your hand nice and wet and get it under your nightclothes here with me.”

Mycroft hurriedly obeyed, his fingers twitching as they wrapped around both stiff cocks, trembling with need as Gregory withdrew briefly, subjecting his own palm to a few swift wet licks before joining him again. With both of them gripping firmly, Mycroft simply let instinct take over, thrusting gently at first, relishing in the feel of that slick, silky-hot flesh against his own. He leant forward slightly and braced his free hand on Gregory’s chest, his fingers reflexively tightening in the hair, his fingernails scraping against his luscious skin.

Gregory groaned and moved his hips in short, jerky motions, digging his fingers into the muscle of Mycroft’s thigh hard. They gasped and moaned and thrashed together, neither of them settling into any steady rhythm, simply letting their bodies move how they liked, how they needed, and with each delicious drag of the head of Gregory’s cock against his own, Mycroft gave out a needy whimper and tiny shake of his head, as if trying to prolong the inevitable. But of course it _was_ inevitable, and as his lover looked up at him in wonder, as his eyes flashed the deepest, truest blackest of blacks for just a brief second, something in him burst, and Mycroft spent with a low growl that burst into a sharp cry and he vaguely heard a curse from somewhere underneath him, but then Gregory’s body was shaking and shuddering as well, and copious amounts of ejaculate was cascading over their combined grip, pulsing and hot, and they both greedily inhaled the sharp tang of the ocean as their heartbeats calmed.

Mycroft sat up on his perch and threw his head back as he panted for breath, only dimly aware that one corner of his voluminous nightshirt was being used to aid in wiping away their mess. He hummed vaguely as his hand was withdrawn from below, as the soft flannel was dipped in between each finger delicately. He shivered and gasped as over-sensitive flesh was wiped clean, but then hummed again as Gregory gently drew him down, once again tucking his head into his chest and wrapping his arms tight around him before turning them both on their sides, curling himself around his Fated protectively.

“Mine. You are mine, Mycroft Holmes.”

“Indeed I am, my lovely beast.” He sighed heavily as Gregory chuckled at him. He had never been one to relish the idea of lying about in bed all day, far preferring to get an early start while his brain was fresh and clear. But today… Dammit.

Gregory chuckled again. “We should be cleaning up right about now, yes? I obviously have things to deal with and you, I believe, have a daily appointment with none other than the Queen, do you not?”

“Pah. She can wait.”

“Oh, my love, my heart. I rather like your head, I’d prefer to see it remain on your shoulders a while longer.”

Mycroft giggled quietly as he tilted his head away from the shelter of Gregory’s chest, his breath catching as his spouse looked at him with inestimable fondness. They both hummed as their lips met, their heartbeats thumping in time as they shared breath and heat, moving against one another languidly as their auras intertwined. Mycroft was berating himself in his head, for he knew that Gregory was quite correct, they both had duties to attend to and if he did not make his meeting with Her Majesty, She certainly would send messengers to fetch him and oh wouldn’t that make for an interesting discussion over tea and oh - tea, yes, he hadn’t had anything to break his fast but ohh, Gregory’s lips were so warm and so soft and, and...to hell with it.

He moaned and rolled backward slightly, pulling his lover on top of him, and Gregory responded with enthusiasm, ducking his head down to nibble on the bit of collarbone that was exposed, but that was when they both heard running footsteps, and a frantic rattling of the doorknob before a pounding on the door.

Gregory cursed and dropped his face onto Mycroft’s chest before rolling off of him and pulling the bedclothes all the way over his head.

“Mycroft! Brother, please, it’s urgent, I wouldn’t be disturbing you otherwise. Please!”

Mycroft bolted from the bed and fumbled with the key in the lock. Sherlock never sounded quite this distressed, never quite as panicky… Gregory poked his head out as the younger Holmes burst in, followed quickly by a very familiar person indeed.

“Gregson? What the deuce are you doing here?”

His second had the sort of face that naturally lent itself to a pinched, eternally worried expression, but this time the look was quite genuine, and he was twisting his fingers together ineffectively. “It’s Watson, sir. He’s been injured quite badly - he’s at St. Bartholomew's now. You must come - they aren’t sure he’s going to make it, sir.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John Watson at St. Bartholomew's...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ye gods, but the muse has been scatter-brained this past week or so. Many bits and pieces, but none of it is coming together satisfactorily. And I must confess that some of the recent drama that has befallen our fandom has turned me off a bit. Too much yelling, not enough discussion or appreciation. *sigh*
> 
> However! I was able to return to our lovely Victorian boys for a little bit, and herein you will read what happened to our poor Watson. More to come, as always.

Gregory cursed again, not giving a second thought to his nakedness as he sprung from the bed and started to gather his clothing. Mycroft shoved Gregson out without comment, grabbing hold of Sherlock’s arm.

“Get a hansom, you’re coming with us.”

“Yes, of course.”

Mycroft unceremoniously pushed his brother toward the stairs and retreated to his room, closing the door behind him securely. Neither of the men spoke as they dressed, but of course Gregory was finished far sooner, most likely because of his appalling lack of a union suit underneath his garments. He studied Mrs. Hudson’s mending in the wardrobe mirror, his eyes meeting Mycroft’s over his shoulder as he ran his fingers over the neat stitching.

“If you’d like to go ahead, I can meet you there.”

Gregory almost looked stricken as he shook his head definitively. “Need you with me, love. Can’t face this alone.”

He smiled a little bleakly as Mycroft came up to embrace him from behind. “Oh, but my dear - you don’t have to. Not anymore, or ever again.”

Gregory leant back against him for a moment before pulling away to arm himself, once again donning the leather holster and carefully securing each of his weapons. By the time everything was settled into its accustomed place, Mycroft was fully dressed and ready to go.

They quit the bedroom and descended the stairs, where Mrs. Hudson was waiting with hats and umbrella in hand. Her eyes were kind and worried, and strictly on impulse, Greg leant into her and pressed a kiss to her cheek. Her hand flew up to her face as though she had been scalded, but it immediately went out to clasp his upper arm, squeezing it surprisingly firmly in reassurance. Mycroft watched their silent exchange with an unbecoming amount of pride, irrationally pleased that he seemed to have brought a bit of comfort to both of their lives by simply being the conduit through which they had met. He shook off the ridiculous notion as they swept out the door and straight into the hansom that was waiting at the kerb.

It lurched into motion as soon as the door was secured, and Gregory sighed heavily as he leant forward, fixing his gaze on his second as he propped his elbows on his knees. “Right. So what happened?” Gregson looked between the silent Holmes brothers, his pinched-up face somehow screwing even further in on itself. “Speak up, man. You know who these gentlemen are, so surely you know that anything you say to them will be held in the strictest confidence.”

Gregson cleared his throat a little awkwardly. “Well, sir, as far as I know, Watson and Murray rode out to Chatham per Mr. Holmes’ request to fetch Mrs. Smith…”

“Oh gods - Maisie! Was she hurt?”

The second lieutenant blinked rapidly as Greg reached out to grab his arm. “N-no, sir. No, she’s well enough, if a bit shaken. We did have to bring her to Bart’s, but it turned out that the blood wasn’t actually hers.” He cleared his throat again as his superior officer released him, reaching up to tweak his collar uneasily. “Seems she may have landed a blow or two herself, sir.”

Against all odds, Greg found himself chuckling quietly, casting a grateful glance at Mycroft as he pressed a little closer to him on the seat. “She never could sit out a fight, that one. Worse than Mickey once she gets going.” He ran his hand over his forehead. “Continue, please.”

“Right. So they boarded the train, and were nearly back to London when the attack came. From Murray’s description, there were only three, but one of them…” Gregson looked down at his hands, his fingers twisting together in consternation. “One of them was Herself, sir.”

Mycroft sat bolt upright, his hands clutching at his legs convulsively. “Are you saying that the Queen of Winter participated in an attack on mortals in the human realm? On a moving locomotive, even?”

“That’s how it was described to me, sir, although Murray was horribly shaken by the whole affair so some of his details might be a bit muddled. They managed to stave off the attack for the most part, but then Watson came between the Lady and her target, Mrs. Smith. She speared him in the shoulder and the wound - oh, sir. In truth, I fear for him.”

Greg frowned to himself. “Shoulder wounds generally aren’t that nasty. Did he lose a lot of blood?”

“Again, as it was described, no. But the wound had gone black almost immediately. They believe that the Lady’s blade may have been coated with some contagion, but it isn’t anything that they’ve seen before.”

“He is being looked after in the Company wing, of course.”

Gregson looked at Mycroft with an air of affronted shock. “Oh yes, sir. They’re well aware of what we could be dealing with.”

“Nothing but a bunch of quacks. There isn’t one scientific mind among them, brother mine.”

Mycroft tilted his head slightly. “Be that as it may, Sherlock, but many of them have not had the advantages that you have, nor have seen as many specialised cases. I am certain that if even if it is something new, you will no doubt be able to counteract it.”

Greg smiled faintly as the younger Holmes puffed up a bit at his brother’s praise, and he reached over to squeeze Mycroft’s knee gently. He immediately placed his hand over his, offering comfort the only way he could in the moment.

“Anything else, Gregson?”

“You may get more satisfactory answers from Mrs. Smith, sir. She’s refused to leave Watson’s side as it is. Developed a fierce loyalty, she has.”

Greg leant back in his seat, slumping down with a slight grin. “Yeah, she does that for folks who heedlessly throw themselves into danger for her. Very well. I guess we’ll just have to get there and see what’s what.”

Gregson glanced down at where his superior officer’s hand was clutching at the knee of the head of the Head Office with trepidation. “Sir, if I may - are congratulations in order, then? Only, see, Captain Dobson didn’t really tell us what was going on and all.”

“Can’t say I’m surprised.” Greg cast a significant look at Mycroft and was pleased to catch him looking just a tiny bit ashamed. “I find myself Fated, Gregson. Fated and bonded all in one night.” His second smiled at him a little shakily. “I’ve no intention of stopping my work, though. I’ll still be your lieutenant, I just won’t be stuck at the barracks with you ill-mannered beasts any longer.”

“That’s good to hear, sir.” Gregson inclined his head toward Mycroft with a bit of a twinkle in his eye. “Welcome to the family, Mr. Holmes.”

Greg laughed quietly at Mycroft’s incredulous expression. “We’ll have ourselves a bit of a celebration once John is hale and hearty once again, eh, love? A little party for the lads and lasses under my command.”

Sherlock snorted inelegantly as Mycroft stiffened and turned toward his spouse with an awkward tilt of the head. “Of course, my dear. That sounds perfectly lovely.”

“You truly are a dreadful liar, brother mine.”

Mycroft turned and was about to hiss something horrible at his younger sibling, but Sherlock was saved from his withering scorn when the hansom abruptly came to a creaking halt. They all disembarked in a great rush, Mycroft paying the driver and then leading the way into the great stone building. Both he and Sherlock seemed to know exactly where to go, leaving Greg and his second to trail a little behind. After stopping at an unassuming podium and exchanging a few words with the stony-faced matron attending it, no doubt a passcode of sorts, they were allowed passage through to a long corridor.

A white-haired man of somewhat advanced age appeared and came bustling toward them, his coattails flapping behind him. Sherlock huffed almost imperceptibly as he came into clearer view, his opinion on the Old Guard of the medical profession being made quite obvious with nothing more than that single puff of breath. Mycroft threw his younger brother a swift but devastatingly dirty look as Gregory chuckled quietly from behind them. He politely inclined his head and held out his hand as the old doctor finally caught up to them.

“Mr. Holmes, what a delightful surprise! Burroughs, at your service, sir.” Gregson glanced at his superior with eyebrows raised and Greg mirrored his expression, both of them rather startled by the man’s surprisingly squeaky voice. After vigorously pumping Mycroft’s arm up and down a few times, the smaller man bent forward as if conveying a secret, completely oblivious to the way Mycroft was leaning away from him. “We had no idea that there would be an inspection today, sir.”

“Because there isn’t, you fool.” Mycroft lifted his eyes to the heavens as Sherlock snapped testily next to him. “And even if there was, wouldn’t prior notice somewhat defeat the purpose?” He stepped forward as the doctor shrank back. “We’re here for Watson, not for you or your infernal toadying. Take us to him.”

Burroughs turned an incredulous look on the elder Holmes, but was met with an impassive face and a curt nod. “John Watson. Immediately, if you please.”

The man made an aggrieved noise of some sort, but smartly turned on his heel all the same, leading them into the intensive ward. It was crowded with beds, of course, but thankfully most of them were empty, seeing as how this was a room strictly for Company use. They crowded around the one occupied bed, and Gregson subconsciously stepped back as Maisie rose from her chair next to it to greet them all.

Standing half a head taller than anyone else in the room and rather broad in the beam, she struck quite the imposing figure, especially with her fine blonde curls still tinged red with blood. Greg tutted quietly as he held out both hands and she took them, eagerly leaning into him to accept soft kisses on either cheek.

“So glad to see you’re safe, Maisie love. Didja give ‘em hell?”

She tittered girlishly, and all of the men gathered round except her old friend gaped stupidly. “Oh, Greggy, it were ‘orrible.” Her voice dropped into something more melancholy as she nodded toward the still figure with a gentle reverence. “I’m only ‘ere ‘cause of that one. Fought like a wildcat, ‘e did. Took the blow that was meant to take me ‘ead off.” Her bottom lip began to quiver with imminent tears as she looked down at the man in the bed. “It’s only ‘cause o’ me that ‘e’s even ‘ere...”

Greg patted her hand and reached up to cup her cheek. “Don’t you be thinking like that, my fine gel. I’m just glad that you’re still with us.” He turned toward the bed and gazed down at the small form with such grief in his eyes that Mycroft couldn’t resist wrapping an arm around his waist and pulling him in tight.

Maisie frowned slightly, but as she looked between the two of them her eyes began to glow with delight, and Mycroft shook his head in a mute admonishment to silence what he felt might be a truly deafening exclamation. Gregory’s hand trembled as he brushed the fringe from Watson’s face, taking in the ashen complexion with a bleak expression. “Oh Johnny…”

“Burroughs. What is your diagnosis? Be succinct and extremely honest.” Mycroft snapped out the words as the white-haired man dithered at his side. He turned a look on his younger brother and nodded silently, watching as Sherlock swiftly began to remove the bandages swaddling Watson’s left shoulder.

“Oh, I say! Sir, that really isn’t proper, you know…”

“Hang proper. Unlike you benighted morons, I actually may be able to save this man’s life.” Sherlock sucked in a sharp hiss of breath through his teeth as the wound came into view. The puncture itself seemed rather clean, so the blade must have been as keen as a razor. No jagged edges, no weeping of blood or other fluids. The entire shoulder was of course inflamed, red and puffy and puckered about the middle, whitish with lack of blood. But that was just at the centre of a vast ring of blackened flesh that was radiating out in questing offshoots over Watson’s shoulder, and even as they watched, it seemed that another finger was slowly making its way across and down his chest.

Burroughs cleared his throat. “It’s unlike anything we’ve seen before, Mr. Holmes. Can’t even rightly say whether it’s an infection or some kind of poison. Nothing we’ve tried has worked. I’m afraid that he isn’t long for this world.”

Sherlock leant down and sniffed at the wound before poking around it gently. Watson thrashed slightly, but even that minute movement seemed to pain him greatly, as his face contorted into something truly agonised. Mycroft clutched Gregory a bit tighter as his knees trembled, as he ran a soothing hand over Watson’s brow. The younger Holmes stood abruptly and looked around him, immediately striding to the cabinet where the implements were kept. He selected a small knife and a glass dish.

“I have seen something like this in my studies. It is indeed a poison, but it will not be thwarted by anything that you may have in stock.” He turned concerned eyes on his brother as he strode back toward the cot. “It is definitely Fae in origin, in fact, it’s a new species that we had yet to encounter until quite recently.”

Greg tilted his head as he pointed at the black stain that was spreading out under John’s skin. “Those - that - whatever it is - is faerie?”

Sherlock nodded solemnly. “Tiny, yes, even microscopic.” He blinked slowly. “Consider it, say, as an army. A vast army of nearly invisible goblins. Their intention is to burrow their way into Watson’s heart. And then they will devour it.”

“Ye gods.”

“I may be able to counter the effect, to wipe it out of his system completely.” Sherlock held up the knife. “But I need a sample to work with.” He turned an apologetic look on his new brother-in-law. “I’m afraid that I will have to cut rather deep.”

Gregory paled, but he nodded as he twisted away from Mycroft, bending down to unlace his boots, quickly kicking them off. Without bothering to answer his spouse’s unspoken questions, he calmly clambered up onto the bed, over Watson’s prone form. He straddled his waist and settled his weight down firmly, reaching out to wrap his hand around John’s left arm and pressing his free arm securely across his chest. Realising that his intent was to hold the ill man down for Sherlock’s less than gentle attentions, Mycroft grasped the ankle nearest to him and pressed his own weight down, nodding at Burroughs to take the other leg. Maisie grasped her saviour’s head to keep it still, and then everyone took a deep breath as Sherlock lowered his blade.

He avoided cutting into the existing furrow, choosing instead to carve a deep incision a few centimetres to the right, just under the collarbone, where a vast pool of the black contagion was residing. The beleaguered patient reacted immediately, of course, his entire body seizing mightily, his back bowing to such an extreme degree that they actually heard it crack. His eyes flew open as his mouth opened in a silent scream, only the barest whisper of sound being forced through his vocal cords. His right hand, which no-one had thought to restrain, flailed wildly before grabbing hold of Gregory’s arm above the elbow, clamping down hard.

Gregory himself let out a noise of pure anguish as he fought to keep Watson’s left arm and chest as still as possible while Sherlock sliced him open quickly but efficiently, carving out a significant chunk of the tainted tissue and depositing it in the glass dish. He set it aside and rummaged in the cabinet once again, coming up with a hypodermic and a vial of morphine. Paying no attention to the deadly glare of the attending physician, he drew up a measure and swiftly injected it into the prominent vein that was conveniently protruding from the pressure of Greg’s hand.

Watson’s body slowly began to relax, and Greg placed his forehead to his, mumbling something too quiet for anyone else to hear, something that clearly soothed the man, as his eyes slipped shut once more. His vice-like grip on Gregory’s arm relaxed by degrees as they breathed together, as the silver-haired man sat up and once more brushed the hair from Watson’s face before climbing back down off the bed. Without a word he turned and planted his face in Mycroft’s chest, not giving one single damn about the impropriety of it. He shuddered uncontrollably as his lover pressed a kiss to the top of his head, as he held him and comforted him as best he could.

Sherlock gathered up his sample and turned to the little doctor. “Prepare a poultice of equal parts wormwood, foxglove and belladonna.” He scowled as Burroughs opened his mouth to protest. “Yes, of course I know they’re poisonous, you colossal idiot. None of the toxin will make it into his bloodstream, however. These creatures are drawn to certain questionable flora, and if we give them something else to chew upon, perhaps it will buy Watson a little more time.”

Burroughs turned to Mycroft, his pale face going quite red about the cheeks and ears. “Sir, I really must protest most strenuously. This individual’s recommendations could very well kill this man, and he claims to be able to cure him? Preposterous!”

Mycroft sighed heavily. “This individual is my brother, and I trust his judgement without reservation. You will do everything that he tells you to.” He glowered and leant forward slightly, making sure to take full advantage of his most imposing glare. “Everything.” He looked to Sherlock and nodded him toward the door. “You know where to go and what to do. Be quick, brother mine.” The younger Holmes tore his gaze from Watson’s face with a troubled expression, finally tilting his head and striding away purposefully.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maisie tells her story, and Greg has a lovely little chat with his beastie...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this took a very interesting turn, yes indeedy.
> 
> Please peruse, please do let me know if you gasped aloud or giggled or anything of the sort. Quite frankly, I need feedback. I feel that the muse is withering a bit, but that could just be the misery of writing. *sigh* Oh, woe is me...
> 
> :) Kisses, all. *mwah*

Mycroft turned a stern gaze on Burroughs as he dithered on the other side of Watson’s limp form. “Were my brother’s instructions somehow lacking, Doctor?” The white-haired gentleman blanched slightly and shook his head. “Then I would advise you either get to it, or find someone else who will.”

“I shall not be held responsible if…” Burroughs let the implication linger in the air as he turned on his heel with an exasperated sigh, making his way across the ward and out the door.

Mycroft took a moment to close his eyes and carefully let a small whisper of his will reach out to caress Gregory’s troubled mind, inhaling the comforting smell of woodsmoke as he responded in kind. He pulled away slightly as a low sweet voice started to fill the room. Mycroft recognised the tune as some kind of lullaby, but the words didn’t seem familiar. But then, it had been a very long time since anyone had sung anything of the sort to either him or his brother…

 _Sleep my love, and peace attend thee_  
_All through the night;_  
_Guardian angels God will lend thee,_  
_All through the night,_  
_Soft the drowsy hours are creeping,_  
_Hill and vale in slumber steeping,_  
_I my loving vigil keeping,_  
_All through the night._

 _Angels watching ever round thee,_  
_All through the night,_  
_In thy slumbers close surround thee,_  
_All through the night,_  
_They should of all fears disarm thee,_  
_No forebodings should alarm thee,_  
_They will let no peril harm thee,_  
_All through the night._

The newly bonded couple stood side-by-side and they watched as Maisie sang softly to her wounded warrior, gently caressing Watson’s arm, reaching down to place her hand in his. His fingers tightened convulsively around hers, but other than a tiny wince, she gave no indication of any distress. His grip slackened as her song came to a close, his features taking on some semblance of peace.

She hummed quietly for a few moments more, finally breaking off as an attendant entered the room and approached them cautiously. Mycroft tutted in annoyance as the younger man cast them all a frightened glance, but simply nodded at his silent question. With that, he opened the jar of unidentifiable mush in his hand and began to slather it onto Watson’s open wound with the aid of some kind of blunt blade. He stepped back as soon as the jar was empty, but the change in Watson’s countenance was almost instantaneous. A bit of colour returned to his cheeks, and his breathing suddenly became much less laboured. They crowded around his bed and watched in astonishment as the distinct black trails started to slowly withdraw back to the centre of the wound, toward the apparently enticing poultice consisting entirely of toxic plant material.

Gregory breathed out a quiet huff of pure relief and squeezed Mycroft’s hand. “Your brother is a bloody genius.”

Mycroft harrumphed delicately. “Naturally. I _am_ the one who taught him everything he knows, of course.” He ignored what he deemed to be the rather uncharitable laughter his innocent remark garnered from both his spouse and from Maisie, looking to the attendant. “Please convey my gratitude to Dr. Burroughs for indulging our request and if you would also relay what you have seen here, I would greatly appreciate it.” He nodded toward the small jar still clutched in the boy’s hand. “And make up some more of that ghastly concoction, if you would. It seems rather effective, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Yes, sir.”

The boy scuttled from the ward and Maisie settled herself down at Watson’s side. She nodded toward the couple’s joined hands and sniffed imperiously. “Wot’s all this, then?”

“Alas, my dear gel - your Greggy’s gone and got himself Fated.” She snorted out a sharp burst of laughter as Gregory shook off his spouse and held both hands out to her, clasping them tight. He leant forward to place their foreheads together, both of them taking in a deep breath, silently celebrating simply being alive. “But that’s something that can wait until we’ve got you safe. Can you tell us the story, duck?”

She snorted again in a rather intimidating fashion as she tilted her head toward Gregson, who had somehow vanished into the woodwork simply by tucking himself in the corner and remaining still and silent. “Told that one, din’t I?”

Gregory chuckled softly as his second lieutenant stiffened at their combined scrutiny, his pinched face turning down into a frown. “He was a little hazy on the details, Mais. Come now. You know we’ve got Mickey down at HQ, he’s probably worn a track in the floor with his pacing by this time. Surely you’d like to be reunited with your darling husband?”

“Pah. Only ‘cause o’ ‘im that this e’en ‘appened.”

Gregory clucked at her quietly. “Are you sure about that, now?”

Maisie bit her lip and shook her curls as she looked down, swinging Greg’s arms gently. “Naw. I know ‘e wouldn’t’ve done it on ‘is own. She - She would’ve used somethin’ aginst ‘im. Obviously knew I was ‘is weak spot…”

“She?” Mycroft took a small step closer, wanting to support Gregory in his quest for knowledge, but rather hesitant to break into their unfairly intimate bubble.

Maisie blinked up at him for a moment, her eyes narrowing distrustfully. Mycroft sighed quietly, unsure of how to prove himself to her satisfaction, since Gregory had more or less vouched for him already. He lit upon one possibility and silently flipped his coat lapel back, showing her the stylised owl pin that had won him Gregory’s trust the night before. Something in her posture seemed to relax upon seeing it, but she still looked between him and Gregory with an air of confusion and perhaps a touch of jealousy.

She finally nodded curtly, giving Gregory’s hands another squeeze before dropping them and leaning back slightly. Maisie glanced over at Watson’s face, clearly taking comfort in his improved appearance. “Winter.” Mycroft leant forward as she whispered the word, letting those two syllables hang in the air between them. “T'was Lady Winter ‘erself come after me.”

“Are you certain?”

Maisie rolled her eyes and picked nervously at her fingernails as Mycroft moved a bit closer. “No mistakin’ ‘er, really. I’ve troll in my blood same as Mick - Unseelie blood. We know when our Queen is near.” She shuddered as Greg lowered himself to the thin mattress next to her, wrapping one arm comfortingly around her waist. “I felt ‘er callin’ me, Greggy. Almost followed ‘er too, but then that one put ‘is ‘and on me cheek and told me ta think o’ Mick. Ta think o’ ‘im and think about what ‘e might do if I just up and vanished. And ‘e was right. I thought o’ that great lump and ‘er spell just broke.” She smiled shakily. “She didn’t take too kindly ta that.”

Mycroft drummed his fingers on the handle of his umbrella fitfully. “Was she alone?”

“Naw. ‘ad one other with ‘er, probly one o’ ‘er guard. Ta glamour on ‘im was wicked strong - couldn’t see past it. Doubt ‘e still as ‘is ‘ead, though.”

“I’m quite sure you’re correct on that score.” Mycroft cleared his throat uneasily. “Just to be clear, she mounted her attack whilst you were all on a moving locomotive?”

“Oh, we were movin’, right enough.” She shivered delicately. “Thought I might be ill before ta whole fracas e’en ‘appened.”

Greg squeezed her gently. “Must’ve been the iron in the chassis, my gel. Even I get a little sick from it, and I’m barely changeling as it is.”

“That’s precisely the issue, Gregory. She should have been nearly incapacitated by all of that cold iron - faeries’ bane, they call it. It’s the one sure weapon that we can yield against any of them.”

“Perhaps, but we aren’t talking about some two-bit sprite, love. This is a Queen of Faerie. Their power is…” Gregory shuddered as his eyes squeezed shut involuntarily. “Unknowable.”

Maisie bumped into her friend companionably. “Yeah, but cold iron is what drove ‘er out in ta end.” She nodded towards Watson again. “That one and ta other - Murray. They were grapplin’ wit’ ‘er guard when She made to strike me down. Watson got between us and took ‘er blade in the shoulder and went down. Well, She weren’t payin’ attention and got too close and ‘e nicked ‘er in the ankle with his knife. You know, that special one you lot carry.” The large frame shuddered delicately. “Gods, but ta noise She made - must be what a banshee sounds like. Shattered every bit of glass in ta carriage and everybody just dove for ta floor. When it stopped, She were gone along with ‘er guard.”   

Mycroft tapped his umbrella against the toe of one shoe. “That’s what else is troubling me. In no manner would it have been possible for Her to move from Faerie directly onto a moving locomotive. The Paths don’t work that way. The entrances are all fixed points.”

Greg pulled Maisie in a bit closer. “Which means she was already on the train.”

“Precisely.”

Greg sighed heavily as his spouse nodded. “There’s a mole.”

They both turned to look at Gregson, and he threw his arms out in defence. “I only found out about it this morning when Murray came in with blood running down his face and babbling about Fae run amok.”

“Why isn’t he here, then?”

Gregson shrugged at Greg’s query. “Wanted to be behind the wards at HQ. You know this place isn’t nearly as well protected. And it was just a cut, really. May have rattled his brains a bit, though.”

Greg snorted. “Not that he has much in that thick skull of his to rattle.” He sighed again. “Wouldn’t’ve been Johnny.”

Mycroft glanced over the still figure on the cot and nodded his agreement. “No, not Watson. This Murray fellow, perhaps?”

Both Greg and his second shook their heads decisively. “No. He’s not the quickest, but he is loyal. And I doubt that he would have had the opportunity to tell anybody about it anyway. Johnny probably gathered him up right before going to the stables and riding out.” Greg tapped his foot. “We did have that one cabbie for the night, driving us all over hell and back. He could’ve heard something and passed it along.”

“It’s a possibility, but fairly remote.”

Mycroft lifted one eyebrow as Gregory dithered even further, simply throwing his head back as he let out a frustrated noise. “Aw, love, don’t make me say it!” Maisie tilted her head to rest on his shoulder, silently offering her support. “Well, shit. He’s the only one that makes sense, really.”

Gregson looked between them all in consternation. “Well?”

“Dobson. Got to be.”

 _“Fuck.”_ Gregson suddenly blushed bright-red as three sets of eyes settled on him. “Oh! Begging your pardon, miss.”

Maisie giggled and put her hand to her mouth. “I’ve ‘eard worse, silly lad.”

Gregory once more bumped into her companionably, muttering, “Done worse, eh my fine gel?”

She tittered as Mycroft cleared his throat rather loudly, his chest constricting uncomfortably at the naughty and all-too-knowing look in her eye. She glanced up at him and smiled sharply as his eyes narrowed dangerously. “Oh, but that’s a green-eyed beastie if e’er I seen one. I better watch meself, eh Greggy?”

Gregory smiled at his spouse indulgently as he squeezed her waist. “Isn’t he just the most precious thing you’ve ever laid eyes on?”

Gregson groaned in sheer mortification as Mycroft felt his cheeks begin to blaze. “Gregory, I hardly think that this is an appropriate venue. Besides, it’s well past time we delivered Mrs. Smith safe to her husband. The absent Murray is quite correct - the wards at Company Headquarters have been fortified against this very eventuality and will offer far more protection if someone decides to mount a second attack.” He nodded curtly at Gregson as Maisie rose to her feet and loomed over him. Mycroft suppressed a shudder as she stretched and something in her spine crackled.

“You will come with me and help ensure that Dobson is secured in the lower levels before I leave to make my meeting with Her Majesty. He and I will have a friendly chat before the day is out.” This time it was Greg that shivered as his Fated’s cool grey eyes travelled over his body. “Gregory, if you would stay here…” He broke off as the silver head tilted and the dark brown eyes narrowed slightly. “Ah. I mean, i-if you would please remain by Watson’s side to watch over him, it would be greatly appreciated. At least until my brother returns. Considering that he managed to land what seemed to be a rather significant blow to Winter Herself, I do not believe that he should be left alone.”

Greg stood and nodded with a little stretch of his own. “I’ll agree with you on that, love. And somebody should be here to explain things when he wakes.”

_If he wakes._

None of them spoke it, but at least two thought it. The other half of the combined company that even refused to think it embraced tenderly before Maisie bent down to press her lips to Watson’s forehead. Greg gave her hands another brief squeeze and watched as she and Gregson made their way across the ward. His second lieutenant’s hands hovered uncertainly over the small of her back before she simply reached out and took hold of the crook of his arm with a sharp yank, nearly pulling him from his feet.

Mycroft stepped close and Gregory once again turned into him, putting his nose to his neck and breathing him in deeply. “We haven’t been away from each other since this whole madness began. What am I to do without you here beside me?”

Mycroft chuckled quietly. “Gregory, my love. You’ve lived quite a number of years without me, I think that you will be able to survive a few paltry hours in my absence.” He slipped one arm around his waist and hummed as Gregory’s lips traced a faint trail of fire across his skin. “Although the truth is that I am not at all sure how I will fare either.”

“My Fated.”

“My husband.”

Gregory abruptly straightened and pushed Mycroft away decisively. “Away with you. Save a piece of Dobson for me, if you’re able.”

Mycroft snarled quietly, feeling an intoxicating swirl of ice in his veins as he fought to control the anger that welled up inside him. “I am afraid that I cannot guarantee any measure of the blaggard's safety. He has threatened not only the wellbeing of the Company and the whole of England, but my spouse’s dearest friends as well.” Mycroft’s fingers tightened around the handle of his umbrella, his thumb caressing the catch that would release his blade. “He will be lucky to see another sunrise after I am through with him.”

Gregory simply stared at him, his chest rising and falling at a quickened pace. With one brief flash of utterly black eyes, he fell on Mycroft and pulled him in for an impassioned kiss. He whimpered against a sharp nip on his bottom lip, his knees trembling uneasily as a low growl echoed through the muscular chest pressed up against his. His dear beastie’s voice rumbled in his ear before he was pushed away yet again.

“Oh, my sweet little viper... I will happily and even _eagerly_ lick his blood from your hands.”

Mycroft’s head went utterly blank for just a moment, but he followed his spouse’s unspoken command, willing his legs to work properly as they propelled him through the ward. He looked back as he passed through the doorway, smiling faintly at catching Gregory scraping the metal frame of an empty bed over the concrete floor, bringing it close to Watson’s and settling back on it. He straightened his spine as he strode down the hallway toward the exit, trying his hardest to ignore the little pang he felt in his heart at leaving his beloved behind.

Greg shook himself slightly and sat up with the wall at his back, closing his eyes and tilting his head back. Taking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly, he willed his heartbeat to settle, cautiously reaching down inside himself. While his beast had no qualms with shouting his vitriol and derision every chance he got, Greg had become very, very adept at blocking that hated voice out. It had been a very long time since he had willingly extended his own hand at any attempt at true communication between the two of them. He had deftly avoided the fiend in his sleep the night before, wishing to spend the first slumber at his Fated’s side in peace. But he knew that he would not be able to avoid him for very long, and indeed, it was hardly fair for him to do so. It had been a long time, yes, but in accordance with his spouse’s wishes, the time to talk and perhaps reach some sort of agreement had apparently come upon them.

So that’s what he did now, stepping into a circle of light in his mind, visualising his hand, willing it not to tremble as he extended it into the darkness. He remained like that for quite a long time, until he began to believe that he was making a fool of himself, and that his beast was somewhere beyond his scope of consciousness, somewhere out there, laughing at him. But then another hand suddenly came out of the dark, gnarled and tipped with claws. He did his damnedest to ignore the undefinable substances that were clotted under the edges of those fearsome weapons as the heavy palm settled against his, as the knotted fingers curled around his hand and the very tips of those nails bit into his flesh.

His beast stepped into the circle of light with him, standing not much taller, but considerably broader and more densely packed with muscle and power. He suppressed a shudder as the coal-black abyss of his eyes roamed over his body eagerly, his lips pulling back into a rictus, a mockery of a smile filled with sharp white blades.

“Well now… What is this, vessel? I’ve not had the pleasure of your company here in this ridiculous cage of yours for a very long while.”

Greg once again felt a tremor at the base of his spine as the unnatural buzz in the creature’s voice struck at him, making him feel a bit dizzy. “You know why I’m here, fiend.”

But of course, his laugh was worse than his voice - much, much worse. Greg gasped as his hand was nearly crushed by the force of the brute’s fingers tightening as his convulsive laughter shook his frame. “Oh, yes, I know. He is a sweet morsel, isn’t he? So innocent, so naïve. I am so looking forward to drinking him down, to having my first proper taste of his seed - his blood.” This time it was the beast who shivered in ecstasy as he threw his head back and took in a deep breath. “Oh, to lick him open and fuck him raw, oh yes. To take that virgin arse and make him _mine_.”

Greg snarled and tightened his own fingers, pulling his beast in closer. “Ours, monster. He is _ours_ , and those pleasures will not be yours alone to savour. I will not allow you to hurt him.”

The laugh this time was quite short and rather incredulous. “What makes you think that he doesn’t _want_ to be hurt? That he doesn’t want to be thrown down and _taken_? He wants to be overwhelmed by his own lusts and desires, wants to feel helpless. _Powerless_.” His horrible smile turned sly and wicked as he once again looked Greg up and down. “You know how good that feels, don’t you poppet? Hm? You know that he wants it too, because you could read it in him just as easily as I could…” Greg let out a shaking breath as his beast raised his free hand and trailed the backs of his fingers over his cheek and down his neck, caressing him idly with those deadly hands. “You know that I’m the only one that can give that to him. I am the one that will push him up against the wall and tear into those absurd layers to get to that creamy skin underneath and I am the one that will eagerly reduce him to nothing but stark need and quivering cries for more. Oh - more and more and _more_.” He groaned lustily. “Oh, I will use him and abuse him for my own pleasure and he will _thank_ me for it.”

Greg sighed and leant his head into his beast’s touch. “Yes. Yes, he will.” He raised his free hand and traced over the naked torso nearly pressed to his, slowly moving up until he deliberately grasped the creature’s throat in his fingers, holding him fast. His beast smiled even as he choked on his breath, eagerly stretching his neck so that Greg could tighten his hold even further. “But what I said earlier remains true. I will not allow you to hurt him with your avarice, your brutality and lack of regard for that beautiful body of his. You may fuck him until he whimpers for more, but if you leave him with even one unsightly mark that he did not explicitly _ask_ you for, I will _end_ you.”

His beast tried to laugh through his constricted airway, his face gone quite white. “Wh-what could you d-do? Y-you cannot k-keep me locked a-away forever…”

He gasped for air as his knees trembled, and Greg smiled down at him maliciously as he began to slip to the floor. His mind, his body - this was _his_ cage, and he held all the power here, no matter how the beast may puff and posture. “No. You always find a way out, don’t you? Slippery little bastard that you are. But you know very well that I have the means to vanquish you if necessary - to rip you from my head and heart and cast you into the aether.”

Greg followed his beastie down to the floor, kneeling upon his sternum as he lessened the hold on his throat. The coal-black eyes flashed up at him with utter malice as he took in one shallow breath after another. “That would leave you little more than a blithering idiot. What use would you be to him after that?”

“Doesn’t matter. I would be alive, so our bond wouldn’t be severed, and he would be safe. Safe and healthy. That’s all that matters now.”

The beast’s eyes suddenly went coy as he looked up into Greg’s face, tilting his head demurely as his captor’s weight shifted until he was straddling his torso, one hand still on his throat, the other held tight in his grip. “You forget his faith in me - his desire for me. Perhaps all of this is a result of the despair you feel, knowing that you will not be enough for him. You saw the way his anger flared, the cold fire in his eyes. The desire to see pain, the unseemly joy at being the one to inflict it. Only I can match that. Only I know how to feed that fire, how to refine it, how to control it lest it burn him.”

“Only _I_ would be willing to walk into that fire _with_ him.”

The beast looked as though he had been slapped, his coal-black eyes blinking up at Greg hazily. “You believe me that selfish?”

“I know you to be.” Greg tilted his head as the fiend frowned, sliding his hand up his throat, running his thumb in small circles over his skin. “But you also speak the truth, or at least as you know it to be. Truly, I am not upset over the thought that you and he will dally together. There is a reason that we were Fated to him - he needs us both. I would not deny him anything that he needs. Not ever.”

There was a sparkle deep in the abyss of his beast's eyes as something fierce and proud came into his face. “Nor I. A capricious creature I may be, following the whims of my heart and my loins, but he is my mate and as such I will treasure him. I swear to you upon my own spirit that I will do him no lasting harm. If I do, you may punish me as you like. I will allow you to hold me fast - here in the darkness - until you consent to release me, or even willingly submit to that heathen ritual to drive me from your vessel.” Greg quirked one eyebrow as the beast chuckled underneath him. “No harm to his body or his soul. Unless he asks for it, of course.”

“Oh, of course.” Greg’s voice was a mere murmur as he idly caressed the fiend’s wicked smile, subconsciously leaning down into him.

He growled low in his chest, tilting his chin up invitingly. “A kiss to seal the bargain, poppet?”

Greg hummed as he bent low, keeping his hand loosely wrapped around the beast’s throat. They both let out indiscriminate noises as their lips touched, a brief spark of energy blooming between them. With that the agreement was brokered, the pact sealed, but Greg let the kiss deepen, opening his mouth and probing gently with his tongue until the lips under his parted. And that noise - oh. He had forgotten what that needy, hungry laugh-growl-sigh always did to his prick. Oh, but it had been such a very long time…

Greg disengaged and sat up slowly, slithering just a bit lower on his unconventional seat. His beast laughed wildly, the tight clench of his hand around his gentling, becoming something warmer than mere possession. “Oh poppet… But I have missed you, my dear.”

Greg smirked down at him and shook his head almost fondly. Being of one mind and one body, they were both thinking of the days in which his beastie had first made his appearance, rather conveniently around the same time that Greg was coming into his manhood. It had made the transition rather easy on the both of them, as their illusory bodies would roll about together, his beast whispering secrets into his ear as he buggered him from behind and took him in hand. Greg’s actual body would release in his sleep, soiling his nightclothes and sheets, causing him to wake more than once in a sense of panic and shame. Lost in the adolescent haze of hormones and need, he would eagerly will himself into a semi-aware state any free moment he had to join with his dirty beast just so that they may sport in his head.

The first time that he and Mickey had come together - the first time for either of them - he was rather pleased to find that his lessons had been well-learned. He had reduced the smaller boy to little more than shakes and shivers as he had deftly brought him to the edge of his bliss time and time again before finally allowing him to chase his own ecstasy by fucking into his tightened fist. In the next year, his best friend had come into his own Fae heritage and had grown extensively both upwards and out, but he would still eagerly fall to his knees for him anytime he requested it of him. Each time his nasty little beast would watch, whispering filthy and encouraging words in his head and promising to do the same to him while he slept.

Greg shivered and slid just a bit lower, watching with a little twinkle in his eye as his fiend’s mouth dropped open with a harsh gasp. He shook his head as the hardness underneath him ground up against the cleft of his arse. “No, you base creature. Now is not the time. I’ll let you peek a bit later, though. If you’re good.”

His beast pouted unconvincingly. “Good. Pah. What does that even mean? And you do realise that I can see everything anyway, correct?”

“Yes, but this time it will be with my knowledge and consent, so that I do not have to hold back any of my energies for taming you. I will be able to loose my passions and you know that you will receive the benefit. Good means keeping to your word and not causing any undue disturbances until you are called for. It means behaving.”

“Pah again. And what will I be behaving for? What is my reward?”

“Mm.” Greg slithered atop him gently, smirking at his agonised expression. Oh yes - the power was all his, wasn’t it? “To drink in the light of desire in our Fated’s eyes as I sink down onto that perfectly divine cock of his. To listen to his cries of pleasure as I ride him to completion, as I squeeze every last bit of his essence from his body and take it into mine, making it _ours_. To catch the wonder in his eyes, to partake in the teasing as I caress his beautifully flushed cheeks and taste his lips over and over again. Would that serve as reward enough?”

The creature lying prone beneath him squirmed and swallowed. “Good. I can be good.”

Greg laughed quietly and shifted his body subtly, and then they were both suddenly standing again, pressed close in the circle of light. “I have every faith that you will be.” He took a reluctant step backwards, holding out his arm until his beast smiled a little sadly and released his grip. They kept their eyes upon each other, a sudden sense of nostalgia making them both halt in their steps. But then their figures had both faded, and Greg opened his eyes, tilting his head and looking upon the small figure lying so still on the bed next to his.

He gently twined his fingers into John’s and smiled as they twitched reflexively in his. “That’s it, my fine lad. You just fight off those little bastards. Fight hard or there’ll be hell to pay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> According to almighty Google, the lullaby that Maisie sings to John is a version of an ancient Welsh folk song - "Ar Hyd Y Nos", or "All Through the Night".


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little brotherly bonding - between Greg and Sherlock...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, another chapter! Definite ideas for the next one, but no clue as to when I'll be able to work on it. Perhaps all of those 'Victorian boyfriend' photos that have been cropping up on tumblr have been subconsciously inspiring me. Even if the couple shown isn't the main couple in my story...
> 
> Anyhoo! Please read, please enjoy, please comment. It really does help to inspire the muse.
> 
> *mwah!*

When Greg next opened his eyes, it was to see his new brother-in-law pacing uneasily on the other side of Watson’s bed, a deep furrow in between his eyes. He watched him silently for a long moment, almost able to hear the litany of doubt that was obviously screaming at him in his head. His lips were moving in a soundless argument with himself, his hand clenched around a hypodermic syringe as he paced, rather like a restless panther.

He skidded to a halt as Greg cleared his throat, straightening up and giving John’s hand a quick squeeze before moving to stand next to Sherlock. He reached out to take hold of his wrist, bringing his hand up and gently unfolding his fingers from around the medical instrument. He looked down at the needle and shuddered delicately as Sherlock stared at him in astonishment.

Greg nodded faintly. “Tell me what it does, lad.”

“Why?”

Blowing out a soft breath, Greg tilted his head inquisitively. “Because I’m a nosy bugger. And because it’s all too easy to see that you’re uncertain. If you take the time to explain it to me, perhaps that will put your doubts to rest.”

Sherlock closed his fingers over the hypodermic again and shook his head desperately. “I’ve never done anything like this. My experiments are theoretical, not practical! This…” He looked down at Watson’s face, wincing as his head thrashed gently on his pillow. Sherlock’s voice dropped to a mere whisper. “Someone’s life - his life - is at stake, and I will be the one held responsible if this fails.”

“But it won’t.” Greg smiled softly as his brother-in-law’s head whipped around incredulously. “It won’t fail. I have faith in you, lad.”

Sherlock’s cheeks went pink as he blinked rapidly. “You don’t know anything about me or my abilities.”

“I know your brother. Inside and out - after only one night, I understand him almost better than I understand myself. And his belief in you is unshakeable. I have no choice but to feel the same way.”

“You are an impossible creature.” Greg smiled broadly, tipping his head in acknowledgement as Sherlock’s eyes narrowed slightly. “My brother is not always a very nice person, you know.”

“Yes, I do. Neither am I, which is perhaps why we are so well-suited to one another. But I also know that he would never willingly harm any innocent soul, and he would not have set you upon this problem if he did not believe that you would be able to solve it. I know that neither he nor you intend my friend there any ill will, and I trust you with his very life. I honestly do.” Greg reached out tentatively to squeeze Sherlock’s arm. “Now. Walk me through it, and when it is done, you and I will sit down and I will answer each and every one of your questions. I know that your mind is somewhat troubled by the rapid culmination of events since last night, and I truly do not wish to cause you any upset for all the world. I may have filled an empty space at your brother’s side, but he will always have room for you in his life. You do realise this, yes?”

Sherlock shook his head silently, dropping his eyes to the floor at his feet. Greg gave him a moment to compose himself before gently tucking his forefinger under his chin, lifting his face. He charitably ignored the slight moistness at the corners of his eyes and smiled as Sherlock nodded, his lips trembling minutely.

Then they both looked down as Watson thrashed again, letting out a quiet whimper. Sherlock cleared his throat as Greg lifted the bandage that had been draped loosely over the wound, letting out a quiet curse. The poultice had been mostly eaten away by the creatures in Watson’s blood, but rather than travelling down the paths they had already drilled into his flesh, they seemed to be creating new ones. Both of the men tilted their heads as they took in the vague grey circle that was spiralling widdershins around the hole in his shoulder.

“Fascinating.” Sherlock cleared his throat again as Greg turned raised eyebrows in his direction. “In my previous experiments, I observed that their behaviour was somewhat altered by the consumption of the deadlier natural poisons. I postulated that perhaps the toxin acts on them the same way vast amounts of alcohol do on humans. Apparently, this also seems to have affected their sense of direction.”

Greg hummed seriously as he nodded his head in deep contemplation. “You’re telling me that the vast army of teeny-weeny goblins are _...drunk..._ and that they find themselves - lost?”

“Hm. More or less, yes.” Both men broke out into sudden giggles at the mental imagery.

Greg clapped his hand on Sherlock’s shoulder and held onto him as he staggered. “Excuse us, kind sir, can you point the way to this lad’s heart? We seem to have misplaced the path…” Sherlock snorted inelegantly and then looked quite appalled at himself for finding humour in the situation, his eyes wide with shock. Greg shook his head and patted him gently. “We’ll tell him the story later, lad, and he’ll laugh himself half to death, I promise you. Come now. As I said, walk me through it.”

“Well…” Sherlock held up the hypodermic and squinted at it. “You know that drug that cropped up recently - the one that has been causing problems all over the city?”

“Of course. That’s more or less how your brother and I ran into each other - we were each trying to trace the source. Nobody knows where it’s coming from and in the worst cases it seems to drive people quite mad. In some of the stranger episodes, the unfortunate victims turned from their life’s work and transformed into complete beasts.”

“Yes. So the quiet and peace-loving friar went about terrorising the young milkmaids before eventually slitting his own throat, and the leader of the local temperance movement nearly drowned herself in a barrel of ale.”

“There was a house brownie that turned into a right nasty little poltergeist as well. He’d been with the same family for nigh on four generations, and they’d always kept him well supplied with all the milk he could possibly drink. No reason for him to go all feral on them.”

Sherlock nodded, his eyes beginning to glow with excitement. “Yes - exactly! Whether human or Fae, the substance seems to have the same effect on their mental states. Completely flipping their personalities, twisting the very forces that drive them.”

Greg tilted his head with a crooked grin, nodding down at the syringe and the dark green liquid roiling within. “Is that what you’ve done, lad?”

Sherlock nodded again, biting his lip fiercely. “I isolated the creatures from the sample I took earlier and set a few aside. The rest I doused with some of the drug that I’ve synthesised from my other studies. After allowing it to work its unholy magic, I introduced the original specimens to the mass that had been drugged. I watched through a microscope as they fell upon them and ripped them to shreds.”

“So they will essentially be their own undoing. That’s genius, my boy.”

Sherlock blinked rapidly. “Do you really think so?”

“Absolutely. It’s brilliant.” He blinked some more as Greg clapped him on the shoulder again. “So why aren’t you sending those little murdering bastards back in there?”

“Um. I was only able to run the one test, and in truth, I do not know how they will behave once back inside Watson’s body. The drug may not linger, or may not render as potent an effect. What if the reintroduction into his body snaps them back to their original purpose? And what if some of the drug were to leak into his bloodstream?”

“We hold him down until it dissipates. In all of the cases that I’ve seen, if they had just managed to tie the crazies down for a while, it would have eventually flushed from their systems and they would have returned to their natural states.”

Sherlock bit his lip again, chewing on it absentmindedly. Greg shook himself out of the desire to grab his face in his hands to make him stop. “True…”

“Look at it this way. Do we have any other options at this point?”

Sherlock shook his head. “Not as such, no. We could keep plying the creatures with the toxic plant matter and hope to lure them out of his system, but there would be too great a chance of some remaining behind, not to mention the eventual possibility of poisoning Watson in return. We could try to cut the contagion out, but that would leave him grievously wounded and greatly reduce his chance of survival.”

“And again, there would be the chance of some being left behind and causing problems later on. But this - it will wipe all of them out?”

“I believe so, yes. The drug-addled creatures will seek out the others and destroy them utterly. And then they will refuse to feed themselves, and will starve to death.” Sherlock glanced down and back up again quickly, avoiding Greg’s questioning gaze. “I, um, tried to feed them a bit of some flesh that I scraped from my palm, and they refused to take it.”

Greg rolled his eyes and held out his hand. “Let me see.”

“No. I was reasonably certain that no harm would come to me, and took precautions anyhow.”

“Don’t care. Let me see.” Greg narrowed his eyes as Sherlock hesitated, the fingers of his left hand curling into his palm. “You’re going to get twice the brotherly interference now, you know. Show me, or I will knock you to the ground and _make_ you show me.”

“Gods, but you’re going to be insufferable, aren’t you?”

Greg shrugged. “Yes, most likely. You’ll grow to like it eventually.”

“I sincerely doubt that.” Sherlock sighed deeply and held out his hand, straightening out the fingers and wincing as his brother-in-law ran his thumb over the pinkened flesh. “See? The skin is not even broken.”

“No, but I do see where you also sliced your thumb open, you daft thing. Tried to feed them a little blood too?”

“Perhaps. Just as an experiment.”

“Ye gods. It’s a wonder you’ve made it this far.” Greg inspected Sherlock’s experimental damage with a critical eye before dropping his hand. He reached out to pat his cheek paternally, smiling faintly as he scowled ferociously. “Thank you, lad. Now. Do you need me to hold him down again?”

“It would probably be wise. The reaction that I witnessed was rather - energetic.”

“Right.” Greg once again clambered up onto the bed and over Watson’s prone form, careful this time to ensure that his right arm was firmly tucked up next to his body so that it would not flail about and grab at him again. As it was, he was still feeling the mark that Johnny’s hand had left on him earlier in the day. Sherlock watched with a little twinge of unease as Greg gently caressed Watson’s cheek before taking up the same position as before, one hand firm on his left bicep, the other arm braced against his chest as he leant his weight down. Greg nodded. “Alright then. Let’s see those hands of yours at work.”

Sherlock shook his head and rolled his eyes, but bent over Watson’s shoulder with the hypodermic at the ready. He dithered for just a moment more before plunging the needle in, carefully using the runnels that the creatures had already drilled into the flesh as an easy entrance point. Rather than injecting it all in one site, he encircled the wound, doing what he could to ensure full coverage of the ‘antidote’. Greg swallowed uneasily as Sherlock pulled the needle away, both of them watching with sinking hearts as his friend’s face steadily went paler and paler, until he looked like little more than death warmed over.

Then his eyes flew open as he took in a great gasp of air, his body seizing and bucking underneath Greg’s. Sherlock let out a squeak of surprise as Greg cursed and laid his weight down even harder, keeping his seat on his friend’s torso by mere force of will. Watson twisted and thrashed to such an extent that neither of the men attending to him were able to see the wound itself, so for the moment they were quite helpless. After a couple of minutes, Watson seemed to calm himself, falling back into an exhausted heap, his breathing ragged but face somewhat composed. His eyes had slipped shut again, and Sherlock stepped closer as a bit of colour returned to his cheeks.

He carefully reached out to probe around his shoulder, swiftly drawing back as his action provoked a sharp cry from underneath his brother-in-law. But Greg simply shifted his grip, pushing his friend’s arm down firmly and determinedly revealing the wound site to the somewhat reluctant healer.

Sherlock hummed low as they both took in the sight of a distinct trickle of black fluid running from the hole in his shoulder. He swiftly took up a length of gauze and started to dab at it, wiping up what he could and very carefully depositing the soiled bandage in another glass jar. “They’re fleeing their attackers, it seems. How remarkable.”

Greg hissed. “You keep them away from that cut of yours, Sherlock Holmes.”

“Hm? Oh. Oh yes…” With an air of utter obliviousness about him, he made sure that his left hand didn’t touch the wound, distractedly placing it on Greg’s arm instead as he continued to work with his right.

Greg blinked down at it with a small smile before turning his attention back to the man underneath him. He slowly and carefully removed the arm braced against Watson’s chest, sitting up slightly and once again caressing his cheek, running his fingers over his brow as it started to relax under his touch. He leant down again as he brushed the damp fringe away from his friend’s face, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead and murmuring soothing noises into his hair.

Sherlock cleared his throat uneasily. “You’re rather demonstrative with your affections, aren’t you, my dear brother-in-law?” Greg chuckled at the coldness in his voice, at his rather ham-handed attempt at trying to defend what he obviously deemed to be a slight to his brother’s honour. Sherlock bristled. “Do you love this man?”

Greg blinked at the outrage in his voice and shrugged helplessly. “Yes, of course I do. Besides being a valued comrade, Johnny here is my dear friend. Don’t fret yourself about it. Not all love is the same, and my feelings towards my friends do not at all compare to the love that I share with your brother.” He shifted again, carefully laying a hand over the one that was still resting on his arm. Sherlock’s fingers twitched, but Greg was gratified when he did not immediately pull away. “Love is not meant to be hoarded, Sherlock. It is not a finite resource. The more you share, the more that comes back to you. It pains me that neither you nor your brother seem to understand this. I will endeavour to teach you both.” He grinned as Sherlock blushed suddenly. “Using vastly differing methods, of course.” He felt both eyebrows shoot up his forehead as his brother-in-law’s eyes shifted to Watson’s face, his gaze lingering as his sharp features softened. “Or perhaps I will instead relegate the responsibility for your education to someone else…”

Sherlock gasped in outrage once again as his cheeks absolutely blazed, and Greg found himself giggling madly. “How dare you. Besides the idea being rather absurd, I consider myself more or less wed to my work. Trifling matters like love and emotion have no place in my life.” He cleared his throat. “Nor do pointless and base - relations - that certain lesser individuals engage in all too freely.”

“Well now, that’s complete poppycock. But that’s alright - Johnny here obviously won’t have the energy or wherewithal to woo you right away, so you’ll have time to get used to the idea. And he will woo you, Sherlock - I’m going to make right sure of that.”

“Brothers! What use are bloody brothers in a man’s life anyway. Bothersome, meddling fools, the whole lot of you!”

Greg felt something warm in his chest at Sherlock’s childish tirade, letting go of his hand as he stomped off to the supply cabinet, muttering imprecations and empty threats. He wisely made no mention of the fact that Sherlock had seemingly just adopted him as his sibling with barely a token measure of resistance. Greg looked down at his friend’s face again, feeling immeasurably relieved at the colour in his cheeks and at the smoothness of his brow. Johnny mumbled something incomprehensible as Greg swiped his shirtsleeve over his face, mopping up the sweat that had accumulated. Meddling indeed. Just wait until this one was hale again, and then Sherlock would learn the true meaning of the word, wouldn’t he?

Greg almost giggled to himself as he pictured Mycroft’s reaction to this little tidbit of information, swallowing it down as Sherlock turned back with a suspicious glint in his eye. They both turned their attention back to the wound, Greg swallowing with unease as the steady black trickle went a sickly green colour.

Sherlock hummed, his eyes gleaming excitedly. “This seems as though this will be easier than I believed. The original creatures have fled, and the drugged ones are following. They’re flushing themselves out of his system on their own.” He held up a glass bottle filled with a clear liquid. “I will still clean the wound once they seem to be gone, however.” Greg nodded as Sherlock once again began wiping at the green-black fluid, noting that it all went into a specimen jar for gods only knew what purpose later.

He grabbed at Sherlock’s left hand as it started to wander too close to the injury, making his brother-in-law stare wildly before understanding dawned. Then he simply dipped his curly head with an abashed expression, thanking him without saying a word. Greg patted his hand and watched intently until it seemed that the steady flow of contagion came to a halt. Sherlock gave him a brief squeeze before retrieving his hand, nodding down at Watson’s chest. “Once more, if you will. This is simply a solution of salt and water, but it may still burn.” Greg sighed heavily and his brother-in-law looked at him with a measure of concern in his eyes. “I - I do not like seeing him in pain either, but at least after this, we will no longer be the source of it.”

Greg smiled softly, but then his lips turned down slightly. “Perhaps not, but he will have weeks if not months of healing ahead of him, and that is not a particularly pleasant journey. He will no doubt feel useless, as the Company will likely toss him out on his ear. I wager he’ll still be the best marksman in all of London, even after all of this. But that won’t matter to them. Tain’t fair.”

Sherlock reached out and tentatively patted Greg on the shoulder as he once again leant his weight down on his friend’s chest. “Mycroft will think of something. He always does. Your friend’s life will not be worthless, I can guarantee you that.”

Greg grinned brightly, even though his eyes were threatening to flow over against the pain in his chest. “Maybe he’ll just be your kept man, eh?”

Sherlock’s cheeks suddenly blazed and he abruptly withdrew his hand. “Insufferable!” He waited until his brother-in-law’s uncharitable laughter had died down, ensuring that his head was turned toward the task at hand before letting the saline trickle down in a steady stream over the wound, washing away any remaining contagion and a fair amount of blood that had clotted around it. Sherlock had thoughtfully put a shallow pan underneath his patient’s arm to catch most of the run-off, preventing the bedding from getting completely soaked.

Watson thrashed slightly and moaned, but his level of activity was nowhere near what it had been when they had worked to drive the creatures from his body. Sherlock let the entire bottle go empty as they both watched grimly, nodding curtly as Greg sighed in relief. They had done what they could - the rest was now up to the patient. Sherlock withdrew the pan and gently dabbed at the wound with a bandage, tilting his head as he gently traced along the paths that the creatures had drilled in Watson’s flesh. The trails were silvery, standing out in stark relief against the golden tone of his skin, the resulting pattern almost looking like one of the wards that his brother was so fond of using, a ward of protection. It was almost beautiful, or would be, once the actual stab wound healed completely.

Greg took this in with a little thrill of delight, grinning down at Johnny’s face and the back of Sherlock’s head as he investigated. “That’s quite the mark, alright. It will make for a very interesting conversation piece, that’s for sure.”

Sherlock blushed faintly, remembering his brother-in-law’s scandalous lack of nightclothes from that morning. “Oh? Does he have a habit of shedding his clothing as readily as you, then? Will he be that eager to show it off?”

“Naw. Not Johnny. He’ll save it for the special ones. Or one special one, anyway…”

Watson suddenly grunted as he tossed his head. “Fuck. _Heavy._ Unh.” Greg sat up in surprise, releasing his hold and looking down into his friend’s face. He tossed his head again, blinking dazedly. Sherlock gently took his chin and turned his face toward him, lifting up his eyelids and attempting to observe the motion of his pupils. Watson blinked rapidly again, his lips parting and his tongue darting out to wet them subconsciously. “Who're…?” The patient took in a deep breath and let it out on a long sigh, closing his eyes again. _“Angel…”_

Sherlock ignored Greg’s delighted chuckle, simply shoving at him until he finally slipped off of Watson’s inert form. He also ignored the quiet hum of interest as he fussed unnecessarily over his patient, shaking out his blankets and resettling them around him securely. Sherlock turned to find his brother-in-law standing at the foot of Watson’s bed, his arms crossed over his chest and a knowing grin slowly spreading over his face.

“A June wedding, then.”

“Oh, do _shut up_!” Sherlock growled at his own stupidly red cheeks and gestured wildly. “You - you promised me answers.” Stalking over to where he had left his overcoat, he rummaged until he came up with a notebook and a fancy fountain pen.

Greg sighed and settled back on the bed he had commandeered as his own, once again putting his back to the wall and crossing his legs as Sherlock sat on the opposite end, his pen at the ready. “Right you are. Go on, then.” The roiling sensation in his belly abruptly died away as his new brother-in-law cast shy eyes at him, his excitement all too clear in his face. Greg smiled faintly. The joy of discovery - he remembered how good that felt. He mentally braced himself as Sherlock opened his mouth and posed the first of many, many questions. **  
**

**Author's Note:**

> Originally inspired by "C'mere!" by profdrlachfinger, but check out her other Mystrade stuff at [ profdrlachfinger/tagged/Mystrade](http://www.profdrlachfinger.tumblr.com/tagged/Mystrade), including this piece, drawn specifically for this story! Yay! I have FANART! Woot!
> 
>  
> 
> [ Finally ](http://www.profdrlachfinger.tumblr.com/post/119457826759/mycroft-holmes-greg-lestrade-mystrade-finally)
> 
>  
> 
> Brit-picked by the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen - thank you, sweetheart!
> 
> I also have a tumblr, nothing too grand, but if you'd like to ensure that you're getting notifications, please follow me at "bitemebat".


End file.
